Head Versus Heart
by Femina Serpens
Summary: What will poor Draco Malfoy do returning to Hogwarts off his sad lonely high horse, faced with a partnership in a new class with an old enemy; the highly envied, always praised Hermione Granger? Is high, prejudiced society less exciting than chasing his golden girl? "It's like a war, my head versus heart. But for once…I want my mind to rest, and I want to let emotion win."
1. Prologue: Wrong

**Hello there. This is my very first Harry Potter fanfic. In fact, it's my first fic **_**ever. **_**I sincerely hope you enjoy the characters and plot, m****y sexy ladies and gents.**

**Essentially following the major storyline of all the HP books, this is a continuation (fully canonical) fic. We begin our tale nearly a year after the defeat of Voldemort.**

**This story is not for the faint of heart who get bored easily, ****prepare for the LONG HAUL****. And I mean, I do not have a set end in mind, I have many that I constantly change ideas about. **_**The chapters get very long.**_

**Enjoy xx**

_Rated M for mainly language, as well as alcoholism, sexuality and plain old sex. I do not own any of the characters used._

**{}**

**There's something wrong with me chemically,  
Something wrong with me inherently,  
The wrong mix in the wrong genes; I reached the wrong ends by the wrong means.  
It was the wrong plan, in the wrong hands  
**

**I was born with the wrong sign, In the wrong house,  
With the wrong ascendancy.  
I took the wrong road; that led to the wrong tendencies.**

**- Wrong, Depeche Mode**

* * *

_Prologue:_

Something had happened to Draco Malfoy.  
Something he knew would not be easily fixed. An emotional overhaul would be an understatement, and yet Draco couldn't quite put his finger on what had drastically changed.

It wasn't just the fact he felt his regular confidence slipping, though most of it had vanished long ago. It wasn't just that he no longer had the desire to eat and sleep. No, it was something else….something worse. Something that formed in the pit of his stomach, that attached itself and refused to leave, leaving him hollow except for that distorted feeling.

_"_Perhaps," Draco thought as he lay sprawled on his luxurious four-poster bed."Perhaps it has to do with my father."  
It was then, in the clear cold month of January, that Draco heaved a great sigh and finally began to think through the turmoil that had befuddled his brain for the past several months. He had left it to balloon in his mind, and it seemed that today was the last straw, the pin to pop it open.

_"_For the longest time, I merely assumed that father was right_,"_ Draco mused inside his head. "What we were doing for the Dark Lord was the only thing and most importantly the right thing to do. I've always felt superior to most, that Muggles and Muggle-borns were filth...that becoming a Death Eater was a thing meant to happen.  
"Now I know better. Now I know that we, as his servants, meant nothing. We were disposable. The ones who were stupid enough to shed loyalty to him in the first place got what they deserved, but me? I was thrust into it. Did I deserve punishment? Of course. I yearned for power just as much as the next man."

_"And yet…" _for this was the part that puzzled his brain the most, "If I was so convinced about my confidence in the dark side, why did I cower in fear? Why did I feel empathy for the Muggle Studies teacher when she was tortured? Why did I lie for Potter, Granger & Weasley? I tried to capture them all later I suppose…but why didn't I just end it right then and there?"

It can't _just_ have been out of being scared.

He gulped, dragging a lone finger to trace the faded tattoo on his covered forearm, the daily reminder of what his cowardice had cost him.

_"_Never before have I felt such confusion for anything in those obscure moments. And even ghastlier, I feel guilty of all things. Guilty towards my family because I helped Potter. Not ashamed however, which is worse. And guilty because that Burbage woman didn't deserve to die…all those people didn't deserve to die. I was saving my own skin, I was trying to save my parents, was I _really _in the wrong? Even if I wasn't a coward, all the skills I possess couldn't have any effect on The Dark Lord."

He knew he was making excuses to himself, he had been trying to convince himself since he got off the broken castle floor nearly a year ago that he wasn't the one to blame.

_"_This is all Father's fault!"Draco continued his thoughts as he pounded his fists onto his bed. "We could've been fighting for the other side and not be in such a state now – Dad in Azkaban, Mum a wreck all the time, and I confused about what it is I should do to occupy my life. If dad wasn't so bloody hungry to succeed, I wouldn't have this…I wouldn't have…This horrible mark!"

Draco shouted aloud into the confines of his dark bedroom. "But it's not his fault," he conceded to himself like a lonely mad-man. "He was only doing what was best for us in the long-term. I doubt he really did believe that the Dark Lord was going to come to full power until it was too late."

He sighed, then pulled up his left sleeve to reveal the never disappearing Dark Mark, still on his arm, but faded to a grey tinge in the moonlight – almost as if it were drawn with charcoal.

"Ugh, this is what Potter must feel like…or felt like," he spat, trailing his fingers for the millionth time overtop of the deadened skin. He and Harry shared a constant physical reminder of what had occurred in their past. A scar.

Draco's fate however, was just that; _fate_. Harry's had been destiny.

Even though the snake remained dormant on his skin, the dull ache never occurring again from being summoned, he shuddered as he remembered what The Dark Lord had truly been like.

Nothing like Draco had really expected. He first thought that meeting him would be a great honour, that doing his bidding would bring him evil glory that he could revere in for eternity. Because how could a 16 year old boy bring down a monster? Staying with Dumbledore would've been a mistake. The first encounter was terrifying beyond any realm that he knew existed before that point. Voldemort was ruthless; he made Draco torture people, he made him do things or else face the actions himself.

It had quickly escalated into a game – a revenge plot for Lucius – Draco was a mere toy ready to be rid of in an instant. Lucius' constant slip-ups enabled Lord Voldemort to use and squeeze him like a sponge full of water, until he was sucked dry and tossed in the rubbish bin. He had money and connections, but most of all, a weak heart; status was everything to him, an obsession.

But even more so, Lucius like any mortal man valued his life, and moreover, his family. Status among those most powerful ensures the things you treasure most can remain safe; Lucius wasn't completely heartless after all. And nobody, _nobody _ever stops being a Death Eater if they value the will to live.

His father taught him well. Draco complied like a good little pureblood.

At the first moment Voldemort threatened to kill him if he failed to carry out his task to assassinate Dumbledore, Draco knew what it must feel like to be somebody of lower status- with little or no power to seize, an idea that had never quite hit a note, having always been the spoiled child with no cares in the world.

Sitting in the presence of somebody so evil, somebody so…relentless and remorseless, made Draco _truly_ feel fear. Sure, he had been threatened and alarmed once or twice, punched in the face and jinxed – but this wasn't the same. It wasn't out of hatred or amusement that Voldemort wanted to kill Draco. It was indifference on the welfare of a fellow human being. Lack of emotion in violence is a much scarier sight than anger or revenge.

Well maybe lack of emotion is the wrong phrase to use. He didn't hate Draco, but he wanted to reprimand Lucius. He knew that Draco was lost of his wits at the mere sight of him, a quality that should never be displayed by a follower, so he played with his emotions, planning fully that imminently he would be dead. Voldemort had the instincts to tell how much Draco's parents cared for him; he used it to punish while getting still his way.

But he survived, Draco did. Out of sheer luck that he still didn't fully comprehend. He never wanted to kill anybody, to harm anyone without using his voice. Raising a wand to a man willing to save you was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do.

And it was at this moment, the thought of guilt about almost defeating his Headmaster, the niggling realization on the metamorphosis of Draco Malfoy smacked him in the face: _he was no longer compelled to be a nasty person._

Draco was stunned, sitting shock still. Then slowly, his jaw dropped ever-so-slightly and closed at this unexpected comprehension. It had always been in his nature to be sardonic, sarcastic and mean to those around him, a way to exert his superiority and hide his insecurity. But now… it all felt useless. Who has he going to overpower or control? He had nothing to prove. He was now the scum of the Wizarding world, despite still being a part of one of the richest families alive. And even the most expensive of Firewhiskey's couldn't drown that out of his system.

Of course he was still externally fierce, not willing to let his struggling emotions spill onto centre stage, though it did more often than not. But now it was for a defence-mechanism type response rather than simply pointing out others flaws to cover his own inhibitions.

No, he held no will to be rude to his 'inferiors' all the time, not because he had had a change of heart though. He merely had given up. He wasn't even a good person out of this fleeting circumstance, and it bothered him that he recognized this.

"Merlin's beard…what have I been reduced to?" he whispered as he slunk back down onto his four poster bed. 'Me, Draco Malfoy? Feeling sorry for people? _Relating _to people? Talking to myself like a maniac? Ugh. I almost _wish_ that I had died when – AHH!"

A large black owl had stealthily swooped in from outside the cold air and landed on Draco's shoulder, causing him quite the fright.

"_Birds…always surprising you when you don't want them _– ouch!' apparently this canary had a better sense of hearing than initially thought, and his comment earned a swift nibble on his finger. The owl dropped a familiar looking letter onto his lap and began to fly away with haste.

Meanwhile, Draco had stopped breathing at the letter he'd received as he read the font. It bore the unmistakable red Hogwarts crest, and a large gulp emitted from Draco's throat. No, way, it _couldn't_ be...

It was addressed to him:

_Draco Malfoy  
Draco Malfoys Bedroom  
Malfoy Manor  
Wiltshire, England_

He smoothed back his platinum shaded hair and grabbed the ends of his bed with his fingertips, to sit up properly. Slowly, he lifted the waxy seal off of the letter that rested on his lap, and flipped the lid over, folding it to the other side.

Taking a deep breath, Draco lifted the protruding parchment out of its envelope and opened it. He moved over to the chaise by the fireplace, scanning the document he now held. He could never have prepared himself for what it contained.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_It has come to our attention that last year you were not present for the Fall or Winter term, and thus did not graduate from your seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Normally in this circumstance you would be expelled for failing to provide an excuse or a warning about your absence. However, due to the recent events of the past year, we understand that drastic measures had to have been taken for some families to remain in a safe environment._

At this, Draco snorted. But he continued.

_Concerning the obvious interception of proper teaching methods in the previous school year, we are asking that every 7th year student from last term repeat their final year. Therefore, we extend an invitation to rejoin Hogwarts one last time.  
Classes begin February 9th. We apologize for the inconvenience of the major change in school scheduling, but the reorganization and rehabilitation of restoring this fine institution has taken quite a bit longer than expected. Due to the demand of admissions into the school, we feel it best not to wait until September to resume as normal protocol suggests.  
If you are interested in returning for the Winter & Summer year, please reply by owl before January 31st. Enclosed are lists for school books and equipment._

_Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Headmaster_

Draco averted his eyes from the letter, his head suddenly dizzy from the surprise.

An invitation? Back to Hogwarts? A place where he would be hated, and a place that he hated too. Yet it was a place where he could earn the marks to leave Wiltshire, get a job to distract himself, and live on his own. A place to maybe reconcile with his acquaintances. All would be a hard feat. He would be in for a tough year, bad habits had sprouted up in the past 2. But, it was his way out. His _only_ way out.

Decisions…decisions


	2. The Return to King's Cross

**[Author's Note****: From here on out, the POV is first person. The prologue was meant to be the only one in third. Sorry if that disappoints you. PS: I combined the second and third chapters together because they were quite short , the following two are a bit brief until flowing back out into longer instalments. Xox]**

**_I am just a pale shadow of myself.  
Sleepwalkin', getting lost in the crowd.  
Yeah, that's the feeling you get, when you live like a ghost coming out of a hole._**

**_It ain't easy when the past is dead,_**  
**_And you're livin' like there's no tomorrow._**  
**_No, no, no, there's no tomorrow._**

**_- No Tomorrow, Mobile_**

* * *

I stand facing Kings Cross Station's entrance unsure if I'm delusional or not. Thinking of the sacrifices to be here however, cause me to open the door, dragging my trunks and owl inside, solemn and alone.

'_Are you serious, Draco? You want to go back there, to that _miserable _excuse of an establishment?' _My mother's fuming reaction to rings in my ears as I recall the memory of telling her my decision to go back to Hogwarts_._

"_It's a bloody better place than staying cooped up here! All you do is weep all day long, reminding me that father is gone, and not helping me feel any better in the process!_"  
I regret my words. They were too harsh. But I needed to make my point clear.

'_Well what do you expect?! That I'd be thrilled for you to go back to a place where you almost died? Where your safety was always at jeopardy?'_

"_Lord Voldemort is dead now, isn't he? There won't be anyone around who wants to kill me will there?" _I spat back.

I cringe just remembering the uncomfortable silence that ensued. She was shocked and I was bitter. What she responded with me after almost brought me to tears. I had been exceptionally numb up until that point, my days filled with drink and my nights blacked out. And the statements brought me to life.

"…_Draco, I'm just afraid of what's going to happen in the hands of scarred children, and yes, you are still a child. And I can't stop you from going. But you must promise me you'll be careful. I know this will be good for you, it'll get you out of the house. I had to make an unbreakable vow once, but no one is around to help you in case someone decides to try and hurt you again. You're my only child. Remember that now the status of the Malfoy's has waned, people will not be so afraid to speak out against you. I'm just trying to protect you, darling. I love you."_

I was at a loss for words, it was the most she'd been able to speak to me in what felt like weeks. And she was right at her warning, but I feel some kind of odd - well desire isn't the word –compulsion to go back. Primarily to simply _do _something, but maybe because a part of me thinks finishing school is the best option in my current state. You need an education to be successful, that is one of the main similarities between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, and the only technicality I loathe. I'm rich enough to neglect working, but to live without purpose other than drinking is not healthy, and it's not a cycle I care to repeat for the rest of my life.

So here I am now, trudging along to 9 and ¾, ready to jump through the pillar like every young witch and wizard getting on the train. Only unlike them, I'm none too thrilled about it. I'm thankful that there seems to be nobody here yet. I decided to leave hours earlier with an awkward goodbye to my sobbing mother, promising to write. The sooner I get on the train, the better. This time round I do not want nor need any attention paid to me.

Just in case anybody sees me, I upturn the large collars of my grey coat to shield my face, and then when the coast is clear, I run through to the platform smoothly.

As I reach the other side, I'm relieved to see that the Hogwarts Express is waiting in its tracks. I'm even more glad to see that scarcely anyone is around, just a couple porters. Dropping off my luggage, I enter the hold, and walk all the way to the back where the Slytherin's normally sit.

Then I wait.

After Merlin knows how long, trying to calm my nerves, I feel myself nodding off.

{}

"Let's just sit in here, everywhere else is full," a voice is at the door to the train compartment, and it slides closed.

I stir as I awaken, my head resting against the window after having dozed off, probably a few hours it's been.

Upon the realization that I don't get to sit by myself, it would perhaps be best to pretend I'm sleeping until I know who the company I've landed myself in are. Perhaps the _whole _ride I will have to, damn.

And to my horror, as soon as I'm conscious enough to register sound, I recognize immediately the voices who have interrupted the confinement as a male voice plops down beside me.  
_Weasley._

"So Hermione, how _did _you manage to find your parents again in Australia?" comes Ron Weazelbee's unmistakable whiny tone. "Never quite got the story out, did you?"

"Well, Ron, it was surprisingly easier than I thought it would be." I can sense happiness and relief in Granger's tone, not full of stroppy superiority like I remember it.

"Where did they end up, anyways? And how did you manage to modify their memories _again?"_  
As soon as I hear Potter, I draw my head closer into my neck to try and shield my face better.

For some reason, I just can't bear to let him know I'm present, even though that realization is fast approaching.

My knees are bent and folded up against my torso uncomfortably, resting on top of the seat. Maybe I should just 'wake up' and get the hell out of here.

"I contacted Professor McGonagall about it, who told me that if I could locate them, I could reverse their memory charms. Then I was fortunate enough to have Kingsley help me Apparate and track them down in Melbourne. I looked through 411 databases for the 'Wilkins' and –"

"Database?" comes the idiots interruption.

"A Muggle thing, Ronald. Anyways, as I was saying, I found them after a few days of searching. It was quite a long story to implant back into their memory, I tweaked it a bit, admittedly. You don't need the intimate details. But, I'm so pleased to have them back," she breathes. "It was a great summer and fall after I, um, left the Burrow. Lots of catching up we have to do."

_Australia, _though_? _My face contorts in a puzzled expression; I had no idea that Hermione Granger would have gone to such length to save her parents. She is a mudblood of course, and the parents would have no chance of survival if the Dark Lord decided to go after them. Come to think of it, likely he did…I'll admit just slightly I'm impressed.

"Yeah we do, that's great to hear, Hermione." Potter says fondly. "I've had a super summer too, probably the first I think, _ever_. The Dursley's are probably celebrating every day that I haven't been there." They all laugh. I wish I could open my eyes just to roll them.

"I'll bet you had a great summer," Granger clicks wryly. "Months at the Burrow? A temporary home. Got up to some crazy antics with Ginny everyday did you?" she teases.

"As a matter of fact, I _didn't_ really leave a single day – oh _shut up_ Ron," he cuts in as our resident child emits a tiny disapproving growl. "She wasn't talking about Ginny in a bad way."

"Yeah, I get it." Weasley practically shouts. "You two have been sucking face all summer, all fall, and up until now. I don't need to remember the details."

I have a weird urge to snort; Weasley is such an idiot. I hate to admit it, but Potter, as his best friend, is probably better for his ginger sister than anybody else she'd gone out with. Michael Corner? Dean Thomas? Gross.

The compartment stays silent for a while, the clank of the starting train can be heard from the outside, and sure enough, the blasting sound follows soon after. There's no going back now, we're off.

"….Anyways. So you got to go with Kingsley, er, great." Potter tries to cover up the lapse of conversation pointing interest back to Granger's story.

'Yes, it was. It was.' She coughs. "It's strange you know? That he's the Minister of Magic, and Professor McGonagall is now the Headmaster. Just eerie, I always thought that…well, that-"

"That Dumbledore would graduate us? Yeah, me too. But, at least they couldn't have picked better replacements." Potter is neither bitter nor sarcastic.

I'm clearly missing something here…Potter was obsessed with Dumbledore.

"Last year seems so surreal," Weasley notes. "After all the things we've had to endure before and after – it all seems like it was a dream. I haven't honestly sat down and thought about it since it happened."

"I know what you mean," Potter concedes. "I just wish I didn't have to talk about it constantly with everyone, you both got off lucky. Five interviews in a week, _no _thank you. School work will actually be a relief."

"I think it'll be really _dull _compared to the mess we had last year. I mean, we could write books and tall tales from that stuff. Fetching a sword from underneath ice, impersonating government officials, breaking into Gringott's," Weasley laughs. "That old dragon was great even if he was a dangerous-"

"_Ron!" _Granger cautions him. "Remember that we're not alone in here," she hisses.

"Oh yeah, sorry. You think we know him? It kind of looks like…._no._"

"What?" his friends ask in unison at his horrified inflection.

"It looks like it could be…._Malfoy!" _I do _not_ appreciate the disgusted tone in which the Weasel spits my name, but I really expect nothing less.

"Oh don't be silly, do you really think he'd show his face after everything that happened last year?" Granger starts disbelievingly.

"Well he's wearing hoity-toity expensive clothing, and he's blonde. A classic Malfoy sign," he argues. I fight very hard the urge to smirk, happy my face can't be seen properly. Coming from Weazelby, that is the ultimate of compliments.

"Honestly, didn't you see the platform? There were absolutely _no_ Slytherin's there. The only person I saw was Blaise Zabini, and when he saw nobody come forward onto the train he left with his parents.

I freeze. 'No Slytherin's?' If Granger's right…have I just made the biggest mistake of my life? This compartment suddenly feels like a cage, a lion's cage; I'm the only prey. And a worthy target to these people.

"Still, it's worth checking – Oi!" Weasley taps my shoulder, while the others simultaneously yell, "Ron!"

I know eventually have to get up, I just thought it'd be further along. Guess they like their privacy too. Besides, I don't know how much longer I'll have to feign sleep, and it would be nice to avoid having the stupid threesome talk about me while present. Might as well get it over with.

I'm not stupid, though. I stir under his greasy touch to appear as if he woke me and slowly put my legs on the ground, the strain leaving me, a relief long needed.

"What do you want?" I question, stretching out and pretending I'm not scared out of my mind. And as I open my eyes, the looks on the Gryffindor's faces are full of astonishment, resentment and ugliness.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

* * *

The last person in the world I _ever _expected to see on the Hogwarts Express is Draco Malfoy. It's so bizarre that if an acromantula sporting a bright red toupee was sitting across from me, I wouldn't be more surprised. But instead I'm blessed with a rude, obnoxious boy instead, somebody I thought I'd never see again.

When I was gone visiting Melbourne to find my parents I attempted to keep up with the Wizarding news, and the _Daily Prophet _always had Hogwarts business on the front page. The progress of the school being rebuilt and fixed was usually worth mentioning to the curious parents and students awaiting a verdict. Often, I read that most of the Slytherin families, especially those whose parents were Death Eaters, left England to find solace elsewhere. In pieces meant to assure the public that London is getting safer. The rest were rarely ever seen. And considering Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban almost for good, not to mention the events of last year have brought the Malfoy name to shame and mockery, I really don't understand why he would dare show his face. After all, we only saw a few younger Slytherin's still innocent in reputation getting aboard. Blaise Zabini waited anxiously outside the train as if he was searching for a companion, but nobody showed up so he left.

Maybe Malfoy is suffering due to the loss of his father still. Maybe he's been so distraught, he didn't know everyone in his house planned not to show up. But that doesn't make sense. He lives his life on schemes, on ruses. Why isn't he trying to milk his hellish aftermath to the war?

He clearly came very early, to have dozed off like this in the compartment…is he really _ashamed_? Did he not want to be seen on the platform? The King of Drama and Attention?

"I didn't think you were _that_ daft, Weasley. I'm going back to Hogwarts, why else would I be stuck on this godforsaken train?"

I zone back to reality as Malfoy answers the question. This better not escalate to something, I can see anger rising in Ron; the telltale red ears a dead giveaway.

"I didn't mean _what_ were you doing on the train, I mean how did _you_ manage to muster up an invitation back?" Ron spits angrily, pointing his finger accusingly.

"Obviously they thought my talents shouldn't be wasted by sitting at home." Malfoy retorts calmly.

It's a typical Malfoy comment, and yet I can't help but notice that it doesn't hold as much demeaning haughtiness as usual.

Harry snorts. "_Talents_? Oh you mean like spending an entire year trying to figure out how to _kill _one of the greatest wizards of all time and almost killing 3 people on the process?"

"Harry!" I shriek. Now is _not_ the time and place to bring this up. It's in the past, it still hurts, why? I tried to block this past year from my head.

"No, I'm not done. It _must_ be a great talent to run away and avoid prison like a big baby back to Mum's arms when you realize being a Death Eater is too tough. That Voldemort is _scary_?"

Ron and I freeze. A jab like this is bound to muster some sort of fight, Malfoy doesn't take insults lightly. And Harry is a ticking time bomb, plainly not over this feud.

Yet he does nothing, merely glares at us, eyebrows and lips frowning. Like he's at a loss at what to say to that.

_So unlike him_.

"I would've _thought_," Malfoy states as he gazes out the window blankly, a hand cupping his chin, "That _you_ of all people, would know what the Dark Lord was like, Potter."

"You can say his name, he's dead you know," Harry snaps sharply.

He looks directly at Harry, head tilted thoughtfully, a frown still etched on his pale face.

"_Voldemort-_" and both Ron and Harry widen their eyes at the fact he's no longer as gutless, "was anything but who I was supposed to believe him to be. I was forced to work for him, couldn't do anything when he took over my home and if you think I enjoyed it for a second, then you are just as vile as I always thought."

"How do you expect me not to be angry when you just sat there while everyone was tortured or killed?"

"SHUT UP!" he shouts, making everyone jump from their skin.

"You could've tried to do something for once in your miserable life, instead of following along meekly and being a coward like your father-"

"STOP!" Malfoy sneers, shooting onto his feet. My stomach lurches as his hand snakes down to enclose around the wand in his pocket, but he retracts it after a moment, instead taking off his jacket, incensed.

He closes in on his target, putting hands on Harry's shoulders, who fidgets under his grip. He looks extremely gaunt and tired, like he did in sixth year. He's a free man, the war is over, why does he still look like he's living in shadows?

"_Never_ insult my family again Potter, or I'll jinx you to the next galaxy." With stony eyes he matches his gaze with Harry, whose expression doesn't waiver.

"Go ahead and try Malfoy, you tried killing all of us, and then we saved your sorry ass, with no thanks in return. You're a waste of space! You care for no-one except yourself. You and your father are bigots, and always will be. As far as I'm concerned-"

"I'm not my bloody father!" Draco screams, this time louder than before. "And just because I hate _you_ doesn't mean I dislike everybody you piece of horse-"

"OI!" Ron yells in Harry's defense, shoving Malfoy off of him.

"Fuck off, Weasley!" he withdraws his hands, lurching towards Ron instead. "There's that concept called _love_ Potter, oh I _know_ it's terribly important to you. I'll have you know that just because you are the bane of my existence, doesn't mean I don't have any to spare. My father and mother are the only people I feel that emotion for. Why the bloody hell do you think I was out of my wits trying to kill that stupid headmaster? Simply because I was afraid he'd kill only me, right?" he seethes sarcastically. "You _surely _couldn't open your mind to think that sometimes I can _care_, just because you haven't seen it before does not mean it doesn't exist!"

"_Malfoy_-"

"My mother cries all day long, you twat. My Dad's in fucking Azkaban for being an idiot, and what am I left with? Hostile peers in an institution? I don't bloody know why I got this letter Weasley, but it's a damn sure better way to try and spend my time at a school buried in books where people probably hate me, than living in a place that haunts and reminds me of what happened there every single second of the day. So don't you dare try and kick me out of there, don't you dare pretend like I'm doing something wrong. Because I won't. I'll make it my business to get you."

After that long explanation, and probably most maliciously heart-felt talk that we've ever experienced or seen with him, Malfoy slams open the door to the hallway and walks out.

Harry is shaken, even a tad remorseful, but stubbornly crosses his arms, nothing left to say.

For the first time ever, I feel a little sympathy for Draco Malfoy.

* * *

I really didn't think this through. As I stand in the hallway of the train, I am at a loss of where exactly I am going to go, or I _can _go.

All I know is that I had to get out of there, my blood is boiling and I would've snapped if Potter made anymore comments, horrible or not. Another second and I would have probably been killed; or committed murder, either one. But now I have to go and find another place to sit, which, considering the apparent lack of classmates aboard, might prove a difficult endeavour.

I'm only hoping that remaining Slytherin's are at the end of the train, as per usual.

_If there _are _any,_ my mind reels grudgingly. It's wishful thinking at best to even imagine that every old student would return, but education to the high-class _is_ just as important a factor in social standing than money is.  
Fuck this, seriously, _fuck this._

After about 5 minutes of pacing to and fro, I opt to get out of the hall. People tend to visit other friends and I don't want to be confronted in this irritable state. I'll be expelled before I step foot on campus. Picking a compartment at random I knock on the door, reluctantly feeling politeness is the best approach.

A girly shriek is heard and I sigh; obviously this was not the right one to choose.

Just as I'm about to escape (quickly), Lavender Brown slides the door open, her mouth shooting ajar in shock.

"You!" she exclaims dimly, with wide eyes. No idea how to respond; I've always hated her on principle, never spoken to her in my entire life.

"Who is it Lav?" comes a voice within the compartment. I suspect I know who it belongs to.

Sure enough, Parvati and Padma Patil's heads appear. Popping up next to Lavender's a moment later.

"Malfoy!" the twins shout in unison bewildered, pulling their friend backwards as if I'll try something, scared.

I don't even bother uttering an excuse, I turn on my heel to walk further away.

"But – wait!" Lavenders annoyingly shrill voice calls after me, but I swiftly stride down the hall. "Is it true that you're now the leader of the Death…"

I hesitate but shout a "NO!" before I can stop myself.

I remember reading a particularly nasty accusatory speculation in the _Prophet_ by Rita Skeeter last month; now I know directly why so many people hate her phony writing and I'm sure this is payback for all the times I gave her "information".

The story was totally false about how I am now the leader of the Death Eaters, because I'm the youngest one, one of the few who was alive, not in Azkaban. Considering I'm the age now that Tom Riddle had been when he began his tirade on gaining a backing, apparently it's plausible to some people that I would be the next in line. She doesn't have circumstantial evidence that I'm a Death Eater anyways, Potter kept his trap shut for a reason I don't have the answer to.

God, everyone around me is so confusing. I don't understand anybody. One look at me and you'd be able to see that I want nothing to do with what I've done, would see that to continue The Dark Lord's legacy would be the last thing on my mind. I was shitting my pants every time I heard that snakey voice come into my presence.

Sure, I've hated a lot of people, but that doesn't necessarily entail that I want them _dead._

For the second time in a few weeks, I realize now that this is how Potter must feel having people falsely accuse you of things you have not done, due to third party information.

"_No wonder I'm miserable, I'm comparable to _Potter."

"Talk to yourself now do you, Malfoy?" comes a malicious voice from along the corridor.

I put my head up. To the right of me, Theodore Nott stands in a doorway.

A Slytherin; A Death Eater's son too. Just like me, _exactly_ like me.

I've never particularly favoured Nott. We've shared countless classes together, both of us have gotten enough OWL's to progress to academic courses. He's not an idiot, and I've always hated that he never wanted to join my circle. He acted like he was above it.

But even though he's goading me, I'm not about to pass up a found salvation of sorts.

"No…I was just-"

"Just talking to yourself." Nott smiles a dark grin at me, then continues sarcastically, "Come join the 'Slytherin party", we've got _plenty_ of space."

And then chuckles. Coldly.

I follow him hesitantly towards the Slytherin box, fearing some sort of trap waiting for me. What I'm met with inside is worse.

Four students sit uncomfortably together in this section of the train. _Four_.

This can't be real. I'm at a loss for words as I sit down next to Nott to make five, cursing everything silently. Slim pickings, then.

Maybe I can form an understanding with Nott…we both experienced the same things last year, it'll be _something_. But the idea turns sour in my head because it's quite clear he hates me. He never liked my boasting. He's _also _a womanizing, horny jerk, and doesn't take life seriously at all. You may think I didn't, but I did, I was performing the way I was taught. I kept myself guarded with a ring of disposable people who ate up every word.  
And he was the only one who saw through it and told me he did. It seems unlikely that we'll get along in the long term, unquestionably I'll left companionless once again. Alone.

I haven't spoken to someone I could relate to in a long while. Besides the fact that I've seen none of my clique for nearly a year, they're of no use to me anymore, nor I to them. Pansy never knew what being a Death Eater entailed, she wasn't a part of the real darkness, and I didn't tell her about it. Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to comprehend the dangerous situations they faced, Crabbe's untimely death is proof of this. And Blaise? Well Blaise is always calm, _unlike_ me, but also arrogant, like me. It grinds on my nerves to this day.

I sigh into my arm, usually I don't think about things like this. Usually I'm too drunk or absorbed in reading, or else comatose to distract myself from these thoughts. To divert my negative eroding mindset, I peruse the car. The only other boy is Graham Pritchard, a 5th year. The other two are unfamiliar girls; they look to be in 4th and 6th year, perhaps sisters.

There is a tension-filled silence that lasts for a few minutes until I too late realize the cause of it is _me. _I'm scum to them, or else a vandal. With nothing to lose, I ask the dirty question.

"Are we the _only_ Slytherins here?"

More silence consumes us.

One of the girls finally clears her throat, blonde hair and blue-eyes. "We…don't know. I haven't seen anyone, personally."

"Well, isn't that _fantastic_." I choose, rolling my eyes.

"Haven't seen others on the _train_," Nott starts evenly, "But there _has_ to be more than 5, hasn't there?"

The other girl, slender with hazel eyes says, "I mean, there are still the first years. Some of them are bound to come to Slytherin…right?" she ends worriedly.

"They can't just cut out an entire House," blusters Graham, "I mean, the Dark, He who must– " and everyone, even I, squirm at the use of the name even though I used it not ten minutes ago. "Sorry, just, he was the guy who wanted the non-purebloods dead. They can't assume that _all _Slytherin's do, otherwise that would be reverse-prejudice. So, I think that if they just cut out a house it would be redundant, right?"

I hadn't ever thought of it that way, but it makes sense.

"Yes, you're probably right," I concur. The four view me like I've sprouted 16 heads.

"I _can_ be agreeable sometimes you know. I just generally choose not to be," I mumble/ They remain unconvinced. "Well come on, McGonagall hates my guts and she still invited me back, didn't she? I'm just surprised that most of us were too cowardly to c_ome _back."

Nott snorts. "Well what the hell did you expect? That the Death Eater children would just waltz back in like everything was normal? I mean, you read the news, many of the families just _left_. Slytherin was the smallest house anyways. Now we can be an ever more exclusive club," he bites, crossing a leg and shaking his head.

"I actually _didn't_ read the news every day, thank you," After I'd seen Skeeter's article, I didn't dare touch another paper for a long time. "But _I _came back didn't I? So did you, Nott. And I'm the least popular person after last year. I don't bloody know why they sent us an owl, but I figure it's better than being at home."

There is yet again another lag in the conversation, and the younger girl steals glances at me until I'm so paranoid it's driving me crazy.

"Yes? Is there a reason you're gawping at me?" I ask, she blushing at the confrontation.

"Uhm, _I,_ _well I was just._."

"Spit it out," I demand, glaring at her.

"Erm, I was just w-wondering…why _did _you come back..?" At her sudden inquisition, all of them look towards me expectantly, like I'll willingly tell them my life story.

"And _you_ are?" I bid her rudely.

"_She's _my sister, so don't talk to her with that snide tone."

"And, _you_ would be?" I retort, ignoring her request, still riled.

"Astoria Greengrass" she harrumphs. "This is Daphne. And are you going to answer her question or not?"

"I came back because I haven't finished school, simple as that. If you want some in-depth info on how the Dark Lord was, the terrorization of the Malfoys, and how my entire reputation not to mention life was destroyed then I think you should all just back off, because I'm _not_ telling you." Peace-keeping is not my strong point. Being _nice _is not my strong point.

After the statement, nobody talks for what seems like hours. I am petulant and feel vulnerable, stubbornly staring out the window like I'm too good for them when really, I'm the worst.

Finally, after a lot of uncomfortable shifting, Graham tries to start a conversation with Astoria. Attempting to impress them, I suppose by the way he's chatting them up. I close my eyes and fake that I'm snoozing again to avoid talking to anyone. Apparently, I'm not very good at it. However, my ears won't obey me to shut off and I keep listening to the mundane conversation being held by the two dimwits beside me.

"I love the Weird Sisters!" Astoria exclaims.

"My cousin is the cellist." I can hear the boast in Graham's answer.

"OhmyGOD, really? Merton Graves? You _must _introduce me sometime," she giggles, evidently very good at moving past uncomfortable discussions.

"I will when I get the chance. Haven't seen him in a bit, obviously. He taught me how to play the bass guitar, you know," Graham tries sounding modest but fails.

Ooh, he can play a Muggle instrument. _So_ impressive, I think scornfully.

Astoria is mesmerized in any case. "Fascinating!"

I'm aware this is gonna sound extremely ironic and hypocritical, when I've done it so many times; I hate when other people brag to achieve their created effect. But I've never used his wealth and status to get girls; Pansy fawned over me for reasons unknown, guess because of my parentage. I stuck with her because she'd stuck with me. She was pleasant company, but she didn't understand me.

In any case, Graham isn't the only one who could play something well. Not that it matters anyways, but I could outplay that pipsqueak any day of the week_._

I smirk, and tune them all out, trying to think of something good, replaying a symphony for example, before the inevitable bullshit that awaits me in a few hours time.

{}

"All righ', yeh lot – get over to the carriages so I can help the firs' years!" Hagrid shouts to everyone as he lumbers towards the train.

I'm cranky, not in the mood to be here. I've always hated that lout, and quickly I shove on my coat, walking towards the dark wooded area where the carriages are. Nobody walks with me, no surprise to me.

I arrive at the coaches and hear an odd grunt. There are weird, skeletal, _frightening_ creatures attached to the carriages and I'm unable let out a muffled yelp.

'What _are_ _those?',_ I think aloud, 'what the _hell_ are they!'

Strange horse-like beasts; haunting to be honest. They appear to have bat wings spanning for metres, and no skin – just black bones.

"_Thestrals."_ Nott whispers to me, causing me to jump at his proximity. _Of course. _A sad knowing smile crosses his face and he climbs into a carriage with the other four Slytherin's, abandoning me to stand by myself.

I suppose everyone at the battle can see them now.  
A vision of last year flashes through me. Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, being jinxed with the killing curse last year by the Dark Lord. Right in front of everyone, I saw the blood seep from her open mouth and drip onto the table when she slammed onto it.

I shake my head, trying to get it out of my head. I had recurring nightmares for weeks of his gleeful face. Those snake-like eyes so empty.

And abruptly I recall Nott, Potter and Lovegood were the only ones who could see them in that oaf's class, Care of Magical Creatures.

"Huh," I muse out loud, appraising the beast in front of me now I'm close enough to touch it. "_It's so hideous…_"

"I bet your mother said the same thing about you when you were born." I whip around to see Seamus Finnigan looking at me, anger resonating for every orifice. Cormac McLaggen and Dean Thomas stand behind him in agreeance, as does Longbottom, who is displeased by not menacing. Finnigan is absolutely offended at my existence, at the very idea of that me, his enemy is being allowed to return to his beloved school. Honestly, I can't blame him. I'm still curious as to why blasphemous Draco Malfoy is a free man despite my past.

Further away are bunches of other Gryffindors, looking intrigued yet uncomfortable, expecting a skirmish on the first day back at Hogwarts after the war.

Normally, I would verbally have torn this idiot to bits, but I'm not feeling it tonight. I'm exhausted, I have nobody, and frankly, I just want to go to bed.

"_Very original_," I mutter, leering at him before I let out a hollow laugh and sauntered away.

"That's it?" He's astonished. "No reply from the antagonizing Malfoy? No fleeting words from the boy who's unfairly escaped Azkaban?"

Fists balled, it takes all my courage not to turn round and ram him into the snow, but it's not worth it. My side will never be looked at in case of a fight. So I hop into a seat, hoping nobody will join me. They'll simply to mock me or ask questions. It has been one train ride and already the assumption that I'm exactly the same remains. That I've remained unaffected; still callous, still conceited.

After about 10 minutes nobody is in here, yet the carriage hasn't moved. Magic must have been set upon it to move only when more people are seated in it. When the last person leaves. There are stragglers certainly, but I hope whoever has to be here hurries the fuck up. I have no plans on what to do at the castle, it seems apparent that I'm a social leper.

Mother was right, I should've stayed home. All of these horrible thoughts swirl in my head and I'm not certain of anything.

The only thing I'm confident of is that these thestrals are freaking me right the hell out.

* * *

I draw breath in the chilly February air and sigh; I'm so blissfully happy to be back here.

There remains and odd twinge of sadness knowing that us three no longer are obligated to figure out the mysteries of dark forces. Thinking back, however scary, those had been the most exciting times in my life. It's a good thing they're over no doubt, but I hadn't realized until recently how accomplished I solving a problem with Harry, or devising a smart idea. Proud, even. Honestly, I'm even more proud than the Potions assignment in 4th year which Snape had grudgingly given me 96% (an O!).

I smile to myself reflecting the happy memories as walk beside Ron to the carriages, while he and Harry argue about what they always do; Quidditch. Sports, games of any kind really, cause them to be at each other throats if they disagree. _Boys._

Returning to inside my mind, I can't help but recall the days past: The night I finally perfected my Patronus, drinking Butterbeer with all my friends, re-reading _A History of Magic _underneath that large willow tree by the lake, how giddy I felt getting my OWL results back, the trips to Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks, And -

"…Don't you agree Hermione?" Ron asks me suddenly. My thought cloud bursts, the white dreamy haze slowly fading, and I stare at him with wide eyes. I hate being caught off guard.

"Oh – oh yes, right." I nod earnestly, having absolutely _no_ idea what they're on about.

"How can you agree with him!" Harry bellows, throwing his hands up.  
I can't help but grin. Harry has gotten a ton more expressive over the summer and fall months, returning how he was when I first met him. Evidently realizing how much less he has to worry about, he is now able to care about silly statistics. To be young.

"See, the smartest one is always right!" Ron reaches out his long arms and hugs me, rather tightly.

And immediately I feel awkward. Ron has been doing this sort of thing since we'd met up a week before school. I broke up with him a while ago.

I thought I'd loved him as more than a friend, his kisses sent me into space and back again. Really delighted in the beginning when wed finally gotten together, I was. So ecstatic at the end of spring last year. But after a couple of weeks of being his 'girlfriend'…Ron is not who I want to be with. I toiled for days on the inside after the outburst, after I ended it. It still hurts. It's so difficult trying to be normal. After all, I'd been in love with him for 3 years, and before last weekend, we hadn't seen each other in _months._

We really have nothing in common, and while I adore him and his quirkiness it doesn't go past anything intimate.

I wince as I remember that evening. When Ron had tried to take off my pants after some intense snogging. It wasn't going to work, and it didn't, if he couldn't take his time. Ron is very hormonal, very emotional and acts on it. Unlike me. I swear I'm not a prude, I just was not eager to experiment with him so fast in case it ruined the friendship. It resulted in an altercation so ugly that I left it in tears.

After all, we'd only been 'official' for about a month; I couldn't stop the thoughts of what had he done with Lavender.

"Oh are you cold?" Ron asks as he feels me shiver from the thought of his ex.

"Yeah…let's hurry, I – er, want to get warmer, maybe they'll have Butterbeer? I'm so excited!" I try for sincerity, covering up my discomfort. I'm glad he is oblivious, didn't question me too much; I don't want him to feel hurt after all.

On the other hand, Harry raises his eyebrow from behind his back. I know Ginny told him all about our talk to just remain friends. I wish Ginny were with us, actually, but she wanted to catch up with everyone else, she's too popular for her own good. We both know full well the reason Ron was so sour on the train is because Harry has had someone to hold in the summer, while he didn't.

"Okay, it's just up ahead. I can see it."

We're a bit behind schedule as we stopped to give Hagrid a hearty hello, so when we arrive to the carriages there are only one left with somebody already inside.

There is a collective groan from the boys. Harry puffs; _'Not again!'_

I rush to get in front of them, _surprise, surprise. _I feel the urge to smile at how ridiculous this repeat experience.

Malfoy smirks at the response to his recurring presence.

Probably likes the negative attention, I think until he turns away and curses under his breath.

"Are you getting in or walking to the goddamn castle? I'm freezing my arse off here," he inquires obnoxiously.

"_This will be a fun ride_…" Ron notes to Harry as we all climb in with Malfoy.

The carriage starts moving, and Harry nor I can't help notice that Malfoy, is staring at the creatures pulling it rather than at the beautiful sight of the rebuilt castle. After all the death and destruction after last year, we're ignoring that fact that we all can see them.

He glances at me, raising an eyebrow at how unaccustomed he looks to them, how unnerved he is by their presence. After last year, why would this jolt him so badly?

"You can see them, can't you?" Harry states, to no one in particular.

"Of course I bloody can, why does it matter, Potter?" Malfoy glares, spitting out his words.

"Because I want to know why you're so upset about it…..who did you kill?" Harry calmly accuses, glaring right back.

"Thestrals are seen only when you have witnessed death; not necessarily _you_ have to be the killer, Harry. You know that," I state shrilly, this accusation too far, even for Malfoy.

"Are you _standing_ up for him?" He splutters.

"No," I state quickly, back pin straight with apprehension. "But, do we really need any more conflicts? Especially this early on?"

Silence hangs in the air after I speak. Tension a popular theme today, it seems.

Harry knows my words are true, we don't need a brawl. Malfoy even appears somewhat grateful. But Harry is angry at this pureblood traitor, because in his opinion, his bad deeds deserve to go punished. Yet here he is, a bane of his existence, a constant thorn in his side, and I suppose I can't blame him_._

"_Burbage_." Malfoy murmurs as we almost reach the gates.

"What?" we ask in unison, craning to hear him. He explains something that distresses me to my core.

"Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher. The Dark Lord used Avada Kedavra on her last year in my house. We were sitting at the table. She just… she was a hostage. And he – he murdered her in cold blood. That's why I can see them."

He then observes the moon, the night sky breathtaking, eyes blank.

Nobody says a thing as finally we're at the gates, scrambling out to start the long walk to the Entrance Hall.


	3. The Notice

**_Felt that I belonged , and now I feel that gone,  
Where it all went wrong I traced it all along; back here again.  
There was something calling me to negativity, dark covering me  
_****_Shrouding every scene I'm cast in._****_  
_**

**_ Careful what you're feeling on the inside;  
You should try to remember the good times and the high life.  
Are you feeling alright?  
- Good Times,_ Finger Eleven**

* * *

"Potions is awesome – Slughorn loves me!"  
"I can't seem to find my cat, has anyone seen her? She's brown, and spotted…"  
"Stupid quill! Always running out of ink…"  
"Do you have any spare parchment Rebecca? Mine burned because I set it too close to the fire and…"  
"I _hate_ history, why can't that bloody ghost talk like he actually is interested in the subject! It's outrageous!"

I'm sipping a glass of water – one of the only things that goes down my system these days – and sitting wordlessly on a green sofa in the Slytherin Common room. I've overheard the idiots round hear telling each other that I'm getting rather thin. I don't like to look in the mirror much, but no appetite has come for months, and even chocolate pudding doesn't entice me. So instead of getting pissed off I've decided to go mute.  
The first couple days of class have begun, and all the new Slytherins plus the ones ones approaching their OWL's are atwitter.

Fifteen, by the way.

That is the total number of students from previous years. Pathetic, really.

The grand sum is 34 after the first years were sorted – and of course the talk about cutting out Slytherin sorting's earlier was obviously wrong. Hogwarts is about tradition, even if Salazar was an old bigoty git, he founded the school. Plus, all this talk of equality would ring painfully ironic if they made a decision like that.

Still, I find myself in the same situation I was in during 6th year, solitary. Ten months is too long, far too long.

My dismay grew, but to no surprise, when I found that even though it's a small number, my house-mates are annoying. I've been alone for so long, i'm not used to this.

My new _classe_s are rather boring. School really is not the same without the crew of backup I used to have. Merlin forbid I make a comment or criticism about something anymore without people firing them right back. My witty quips no longer garner an audience to laugh at them. At least in sixth, I still had people to converse with, however much I ignored them all. Now I am utterly and completely defenseless.  
Potter was okay at thinking of decent comebacks, and it got under my skin to say the least; now it must be ten time worse. I'm very good at working people up, often I know _exactly_ what to say to create the intended reaction I want from them. After all, I've watched Lucius do it for years. But now that nobody cares anymore, it's like I've given up.

It has not occurred until recently that all the defeats I've been through after all these years I've never stopped trying. I insulted those who hurt my ego or worse right back, without crying or whining. Okay, well most of the time. Everytime I fell down, literally or figuratively, I was right back up again with a snarky comment ready in the arsenal of verbal abuse. I've been taught very well to conceal.

To fill my head with undeserved pride. Everytime Gryffindor beat us in Quidditch, I'd just continue to look down at them as if I was on top. The same goes with specific people, like Granger. I called her Mudblood as when she accused me of buying my way on the Quidditch team. That remark seriously hit a fuse, and ever since I wanted to make sure she'd always regret it. My twelve year old self couldn't stand to see her right. It's true, that's why they accepted me so young, but just because father had enough dough to dole out for my teammates, which I guess was more of a ploy to make me more popular than anything, doesn't mean shit about my flying.

Fuck, nearly seven years gone by and I still think about that moment. Ugh.

Without the security of knowing people are there to stand behind me, even in just the literal sense, I feel the most powerless I ever have. I'm depressed and hiding it, I can't eat, have a hard time sleeping, my nights are just as dismal as my days. The only thing getting me through is the fact that I _have _a schedule. I have copious amounts of work to bury myself under and try to make people forget about my miserable existence.

Everyone loves Potter, they always have. And now it's elevated even more, it seems. Nobody likes me, fact is they _loathe _me. Obviously I'm aware of why, but he always I've been jealous. _Always. _It wasn't until lately that I can admit to it, or even think it.  
I liked to think that I was somewhat popular in Slytherin, but in reality, how deluded am I to even suggest it? Sure they snigger when a joke was made, but outside Pansy, who did I have?.

Anyways, it all leads to one conclusion; Potter always wins. Triumphant and 'right', he is, the worst of him my best. Simply because of what happened to the idiot and what he had 'overcome' when he was an infant, people get naturally drawn to him, people want to be his friend. And I can't understand it. There's something special about somebody like that, but it drives me crazy attempting to figure out what it is.

_I must be missing something though…._ It can't just be Potter's past that affects people so. Having despised Potter since the first day of school, I can't see the forest for the trees. All the money in the world, all the connections will _never_ amount to what Mr. Saviour has.

Damn, why am I contemplating this at all? I shake my head clear, all these thoughts of the stupid Chosen One are not only ego-bruising but tiresome.

"ATTENTION!"

A couple students gasp at the loud noise; I flick up my gaze at the interruption.

A letter has flown into the common room, an announcement no doubt, but I've never seen one delivered in this manner before. It looks quite similar to a Howler, with the creases of the envelope forming lips. Only it is neither red nor angry. It's a pale cream and the mouth, a soft nude.

McGonagall's voice sounds on through it, I realize, as it begins talking. I almost tune it out _until_ a few words pique my interest;

"…you are interested in this new course at Hogwarts; The Fundamentals and Composition of Music, please report to the great Hall this evening at 8 PM, promptly after dinner service is over. All years welcome, skill levels will not be based on age, but you _will_ be divided into Beginner to Advanced class status within your classes. Thank you." Upon finishing the final sentence, the parchment flies out of its constraints and posts itself to the news bulletin board.

_Music?_  
Never thought I'd see the day this sad institution praised the high arts over sports. Surely if I make it into the class, I'll ace top marks.

The one thing I can speak well about myself, truthfully, is that I'm naturally intelligent. And yes, it sounds pretentious and conceited, but it's true. I understand things well upon hearing them, my memory is 'photographic' according what Snape told me a few years ago. Which is why I slack off most of the time. I always pay attention, but I don't particularly have the patience to jot down every note. I got NEWT levels from studying for about an hour a day, if that. Maybe this is why I hate Granger so much during class. Seems to me that all she does was read and memorize. Everything can't be infinitely useful, can it? But she knows tiny details about _everything _known to mankind, so she must be _amazing._ Obviously she is gifted at using spells and making potions, but she's such a know-it-all that my blood boils when Sprout or Flitwick fawn all over her for her textbook ready-made wit.

You know what, this time I'll show her up, won't I? I'll show up everyone. I know in concrete fact that I excel above anyone in music. Weird Sisters? Easy garbage. Bullshit.  
In my grandmother's house there sat an organ I was very fond of before she died. One of my earliest recalled memories are of myself bashing at the keys on her lap at age 3. She never played that old thing, but if her precocious grandson wanted to play, then of course he should be allowed, yeah?

I've been practicing piano properly since age 5, despite my parents' wishes (You see, there are little known Wizard composers, so music is an illegitimate passtime for the aristocratic folk). But I played parents the melody to "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs" eagerly to my parents; they could not deny me my 'gift', and decided I was simply _perfecting _Muggle works rather than copying them. Which is stupid. Lucius just said that so he could feel more at ease when I played 'Eine Klein nachtmusik', like I could ever upstage Mozart.

I am enticed by this prospect, I really am, to be able to play my piano in school would be nothing short of a godsend. I can't even care that I'd be in dim-witted people's company. I need some kind of getaway from the constant scrutiny.

I'm going to be better than them, I _will _get top marks in the advanced class and practice my arse off if have to; not like there's anything else to do.

I'm going to succeed.

* * *

"Ahem." Professor McGonagall clears her throat as students from all years gather curiously in the Great Hall.

The crowd buzzes excitedly, and I am _very_ glad that I managed to persuade the boys and Ginny to come earlier with me to get a proper place. Now we're in the third row, so at least I may hear a little of what McGonagall is saying.

There are about 250 or so students here. Out of roughly 500 students at Hogwarts, this is a great turn out.

"Hermione, _why_ are we here again?" Ron whispers to me. He's really very good at asking stupid questions.

"Because, Ron, I want to enrol into this class!" I reply, rolling my eyes. "It'd be nice to have some company."

"Yeah, but, me and Harry don't play anything!"

"Well why did you agree to come with me then? Surely, you can bash around on a timpani can't you?"

"A tim-what?"

"A large drum!" I sigh.

"Yeah that's great but what about Harry? He never got the chance to even touch anything because he was stuck with his aunt and uncle for 11 years, and then had to defeat an evil bastard for 7 years. Remember?" I chuckle a bit, always impressed by his constant lack of tact.

I nod towards Ginny and Harry, oblivious to the rest of the world, lost in each other's eyes, indicating he should ask Harry for his opinion.

Ginny can play the cello, as she once told me a few summers ago. Maybe she wasn't the best, I never have heard her play, but she has an old one of Bill's. I wonder if he'd want to build on that particular hobby to impress her. But he is in a different year… she wouldn't be in our class.

"Harry!" Ron yells.

"Uh-what?" Harry replies, not taking his gaze away from Ginny.

"Do you hear this woman? Wants us to join a class and probably embarrass ourselves with 0 ability to play an instrument just so we can keep her company."

"Hmm, so?" Ginny giggles, causing Harry to smile extra-wide and whisper some sweet nothing in her ear.

"SO? Well what the – _pay attention_!" he hollers at him. Harry slowly turns his head at him, surveying his best friend with an amused air.

"I said, _what_ the bloody hell are we going to play?"

After a second of 'thinking', Harry merely shrugs.

"I dunno, I'll sing or something, we can do that right?" He returns to Ginny, unaffected by the burning question, who smiles at his 'cuteness'.

"Mate, you're hopeless," Ron exhales. "Well, I hope this is worth it for you, you know I'd only do a favour like this for someone as special as you, Hermione," he finishes, attempting to get on my good side, it seems. But I don't want him to do this just for me, although the possibility is fantastic. He, Harry and I playing together would be so fun!  
When I give no reaction, he slumps back in his seat, feeling extremely ignored.

I'm too busy absentmindedly paying attention to the banter surrounding me, filling me with anticipation, my legs shaking. This is my new competition. Music is a talent_, _it's something that is not paralleled in any other school subject, like sports. You are good at it or _really _good at it, and often the difference in results is staggering.

Almost everyone in my year, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, are present. It makes sense considering it will be our last chance to try something new. The rest are mostly from older grades. The younger witches and wizards haven't had much musical education or are too scared to try a new class this early.

Another theory would be that the fifth years plus figure it would be such an easy class compared to the workload they faced, and the prospect of dropping something like History would be great. The first to third years are still in that phase of not having a million hours of work and reading. But as for me, I hope that my spare period I planned for study will be taken up by this class so I don't need to replace anything.

"AHEM." McGonagall repeats louder after minutes of patient silence, more authoritative.

The students still, though conversations still go on in whispers. McGonagall is flipping through pages of parchment, perhaps the curriculum.

In the quiet, I hear loud, slow footsteps, and turn to see who is so rudely late.

An am horrified to see that it's _Malfoy._

Honestly, I`ve had enough of him for a good month what with the emotional outburst on the way to Hogwarts.

But he looks _apprehensive_ as he saunters to a lone seat across from her me, on the edge of the row. Some murmurs grow loud as he grabs attention from girls nearby, who point at him when his chair creaks, his shoes squeaking noisily.

The new Headmaster however, pretends that no interruption has happened and begins talking.

"As you all are aware, this year Hogwarts has decided to expand its arts-related programs and will be offering musical studies as an elective." She paused for effect. "If you are seeking for an 'easy way out' as it were, you are sadly mistaken. For not only will there be tests and quizzes on the terminology and history of music, there will be group projects and performances. Auditions are required for this course to determine your skill level, and thus what composition book you will be given." There is a collective inward groan that rebounds off the ceiling and back down again.

About thirty hands shoot up straight away, and McGonagall shakes her head, obviously prepared for the onslaught.

"Yes, Mr. Corner."

Michael puts his hand down and asks: "Professor, I mean, Headmaster, are we going to be graded on skill?"

There is a general commotion at his question and I can hear people's fear in their voices:

"_Oh but I _just_ started playing the flute, I am bollocks at it_!"  
"_Oh my god, imagine having to play in front of the class as a beginner? Awful!"_

"Professor is fine Michael, and _very good question,_" McGonagall enunciates loudly so people will shut up again. "No, you will be graded on your improvement, not how skilled you are to start with. That would be unfair. As for the theory aspect of the course, you will be marked on your knowledge of the subject, considering you need a solid familiarity of all the terms concerning composition and the history behind the changes of musical framework."

"How will I be able to get my instrument!" yells an obnoxious 5th year Slytherin, one of the few besides Malfoy. Graham Pritchard, I think.

Everyone's heads shoot to him, a few titter at the outburst.

"Please contain yourself until spoken to Mr. Pritchard." She scolds, exasperated. "You will have a week and a half to obtain and tune your instrument, the auditions begin on March 1st. If you do not have it by then, we have spares available until you can obtain them. But please give notice to us if you need it."

Lavender raises her hand and swings it so fast and eagerly, saying "Ooh! Ooh!" McGonagall gives her an uninspired look, picking her, probably to make her stop.

"Yes Miss Brown?"

"What if you have a piano or something large that can't be fit into the common room dorms?" She smiles to Parvati beside her, who mumbles something inaudible back. I'm hopeful that Parvati plays the piano and her friend was merely brave enough to ask a question for her.

In my peripheral vision, I also notice Malfoy's head whipping round to stare at the pair, eyes slightly questioning.

He must play it too. Strange…I thought it would've been less delicate and more loud and attention-grabbing, like the drums or something.

"There will be a designated practice room for each of the houses or perhaps years, we haven't decided as of yet. Practice will be avoided in the dorms as it will be very disruptive towards the other students. We will make sure your instruments are watched, andcan all fit."

Other dull, yet necessary inquiries fly by ('When is the class?' [Every day of course], 'Where will it be?' [Astronomy Tower, top floor] 'Can we sing rather than play?' [Yes]) when suddenly a burning thought forms in my mind. I raise my hand in my normal fashion; swiftly and high up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" McGonagall says warily. Poor her, she hasn't gotten past the first sentence and the bombardment still hasn't ceased.

"Who is the teacher, Professor?"

Another uproar occurs, some hands go down, obviously a popular thought amongst the rets of them. _Is it someone new? Someone old? Worst of all, someone _boring_?_

"Me," she replies simply, grinning tightly.

I feel a smile touch my lips, while seemingly everyone else who isn't in Gryffindor sighs. McGonagall is a hard marker, but I like her because she enables you to try to do your best while not being callous like Snape had been.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Malfoy with his arm lazily elevated. I sincerely hope he wouldn't dare criticize her, and ask if someone 'better' can teach the class instead. He has the tendency of being extremely blunt and uncouth, even to his superiors.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He shocks us all when he opens his mouth.

"Yes," he starts, lowering his pale arm. "What material will the curriculum cover? Are we simply learning the terminology, or are we studying genres too? If its historical, are we advancing all the way up to modern day?"

Ron's jaw drops at the question. Harry raises his eyebrows. And I know I probably appear as flabbergasted as our Headmaster.

When has Malfoy _ever_ been interested in school, not to mention ask an intelligent, legitimate and non-sarcastic thing? Makes no sense.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," she says, composing her momentary stunnedness. "We _will_ be studying genres. We will be focusing in depth on the Medieval era all the way to the Classic era, and the terms we learn will _correspond_ with the era and genres.  
As well," she announces now more to the general public, "for performances you will be able to pick _anything_ you wish to play, but you have to have it approved by me first. This includes not only classical music, but popular music as well. For those who are Muggle-born, you are welcome to incorporate popular Muggle bands as well because wizard composers are limited. Most of the famous people we will study are Muggles, in fact," she notes more to herself.

Everyone is chattering delighted again. 'Anything we want' is quite the statement, and now I can _not wait _to practice as soon as I get my violin delivered!  
I wonder who else plays the same instrument as me?

"Anymore questions?"

Everyone seems too distracted to think about the logistics anymore, and after about 10 seconds, McGonagall is more than glad to be rid of her restless pupils.

"Well go on then, back to your houses! On the notice I will be sending there will be audition times for each year, and more details. Attendance to watch your peers is not mandatory, but feel free to come view their abilities!"

At the dismissal, everyone gets up to leave, talking about how they were _definitely _going to sing or learn how to play 'Do the Hippogriff' by the Weird Sisters.

"So, what do you think then?' Ron questions me as we walked out into the entrance hall. "I dunno if I reall-"

"Oh, I am _so _excited!" I beam, cutting his negativity off. "It's going to be great!"

"Oh, y-yeah, that's what I was gonna say." Ron quickly covers up. I can hear him grumble under his breath, "_guess I'm gonna have to beg Mum to send some money for a triangle or something cheap…"_

I ignore the sour puss, happy he hasn't changed his mind (well, not yet at least).

"Harry?" I touch his arm to grab his attention.

"Yeah, it sounds kind of cool, I guess. I dunno what I'm going to play though if I decide to go on with it. Maybe I'll just get something easy like the cymbals and pretend I have a huge affinity towards them so she can't say I am not trying." He glances at Ron, and they both burst out laughing. Ginny catches my eyes and rolls them, but we smile despite ourselves.

This is going to be amazing!


	4. A Feathery Incident

**_In your brown eyes, I was feeling low,  
_****_'Cause they're brown eyes and you never know.  
_****_Got some brown eyes but I saw her face,I knew that it was wrong,  
_****_So baby, turn the record on, play that song._****_  
_**

**- Brown Eyes, Lady Gaga**

* * *

"So Malfoy, what do _you_ play?"

Rolling my eyes, I just want to walk back to the Slytherin house. However, I can tell that Graham is genuinely interested in the answer, so I whip turned around to see him bouncing eagerly behind me.

I really want to ignore him, or tell him that it was none of his business. I'm in no mood for pleasantries, but he's done nothing wrong, so I say shortly: "Piano."

"_Really?_ You pegged me more as an, um, I dunno, but not piano player…Hey, do you think that Astoria will go for me if she sees that I can play the bass really well? I mean now that I have the chance to show her my skills. I know she's a year older than me but she's so good looking and like, I'm pretty good looking, well, maybe a bit better than average, oh, I dunno.."

And he just keeps talking and _talking_. I find myself getting increasingly annoyed that this boy won't get the hint that I'm not exactly in a chatty mood. Graham sidles up anyways, hands flailing with animation, walking alongside his me without paying attention to my reaction.

By the end of his speech, we've reached the common room. "So what do you think?"

I glance at him tiredly, swinging around on one heel. Striding on without emitting a response. I'm the last person he should be asking about help with girls.

"Malfoy…?"

"I'm going to bed, think about it yourself." Dismissing him, I leave him confused at his apparent dilemma alone at the fireplace.

Sauntering up the stairs and into the now small year 7 dorm, I find Nott already lying in bed, reading a magazine filled with women; _Seductress._ I shake my head. I've never had the need to stare at large breasts or scantily clad girls, they all have fake spell-modified goods anyways. But I guess I had Pansy to contend with since adolescence so maybe I should feel lucky to have had the experience.

"So? You joining that class then are ya?' Nott asks me without looking away from his pages.

"Yes, I am." I'm suspicious as I pull off his pants and shirt and slide into the dreary old four-poster bed in just my boxers.

Why does he care?

"Yeah, me too." Nott replies robotically, still fixated on a sexy witch from Brazil._ Surely not?_ I hadn't even seen him at the meeting, but then I was late and forced to the front, wasn't I?

I have no words for him, a 'good for you', maybe. But then it'll just sound rude and I think making this arrangement awkward is a bad idea.  
Laying my head down on the plush pillow, I give up thinking and try to sleep. It's only about 9:30 homework cannot be done now, nor can I do the only thing I want to do; practice piano. I must admit, I'm seriously excited at the prospect of getting it. I'm planning to get up early to go to the Owlery in the morning and deliver a letter telling mother to send it over straight away. If I can limit my run-ins with the plebians I'll be a right bit happier.

"So what do you play then?" Nott's voice rings out again into the uncomfortable silence.

I sigh, grumbling into my sheets as I roll onto my stomach: "Piano."

"Really? Nice, nice. Wanna know what I play?"

No, I don't. Honestly, I don't care. I find it irksome to try and make small talk with Nott, when before all this we never got on. He's the only seventh year boy here besides me though, ignoring him forever is not an option.

On that note, I seriously still am in disbelief that Goyle, Blaise or Pansy refused to show up. I haven't really missed them much, they'd ignored me for so long even after I wrote them, that I would have no words if I ever were to come face to face with them. But I'll be damned if I'm still a mere mortal, everyone likes having people to talk to.

Maybe it was their parents doing to pull them out of school…that makes the most sense. But I still managed to come and Lucius was one of the worst offenders during the war. God, I`m an idiot. I'm fast regretting this decision every time somebody makes a quipping insult, a loud jeer as I pass them by. I have no arsenal ready behind me, I have no pride left to make my retorts anything more than pathetic.

I wonder if any of the rest of the Slytherins have gone abroad like so many others have done…they can live in less embarrassment then.

"Draco? Can I call you that? Guess what I play!" Nott pops my thought bubble as he continues to try and catch my attention.

No, he may _not _call me that. Nobody calls him Draco, except my parents and Pansy, who I never could stop from saying it. I realize he's not gonna leave me be.

"What then. What do you play?" I ask exasperated, deciding it best just to go along with him to avoid punching him in the face.

"Drums! It's going to be awesome!" he replies with fervour. I smirk despite myself. It's amusing albeit slightly wary that Nott is so damn enthusiastic about it. But on the bright side, if he's as good as I am, I won't be all by myself in that class, subjected to playing in front of a bunch of neathderthals who want tnothing better than to hate me for what they think I am.

My stomach suddenly clenches at the thought of having to prove my worth with an audience full of hate.

"It should be good. I hope McGonagall doesn't fuck it up, although I will admit she probably has it organized better than any of the other dimwits here could."

"Ouch. You really can't help those insults can you?" Nott laughs, asmile spread wide across his face when I pull my covers down to face him.

I'm somewhat stunned by his comment. I don't even consider that a _minor_ insult by my standards. Guess I need to work on eradicating my jabbing a bit harder.

"Apparently not…why do you play the drums anyways? I thought your parents were thoroughly anti-Muggle."

"Oh, they are. But when I was 13 I was obsessed with the Weird Sisters and my favourite was Orsino Thurston, so here we are now. I wanted to play drums like him. I tapped on the pots and pans in the kitchen, made the house elves loathe me. Besides, if Wizards can have wealthy and famous musicians, then the argument that music is too muggle is a little invalid."

_Hmm,_ never thought of it that way.  
But I suppose that since I am partial to Mozart and Liszt, liking foreign old composers instead of what a child 'should', dear old mum and dad were worried about me ditching my heritage and thumbing it to the outskirts of London or something, join a travelling band of classical musicians.

"I guess that's true…Probably need more variety though, only got like five bands to choose from. Anyways, I'm going to sleep. See you in the morning," I yawn involuntarily.

I snuggle into my pillow once again, Nott grunting and throwing his magazine on the bed.  
"Well you're no fun. I'm going to go talk to that Astoria chick. I saw her eyeing me up, and she's a hot little number, so it couldn't hurt to try and squeeze in a little action. Night Drakes."

Nott's footsteps bounce happily as his feet hit the staircase.

I shudder at this new nickname; Ugh, _Drakes._ It was almost like what that Lavender Brown calls Weasley: "Won-Won".

Psh, _Won Won. _I snort and start laughing silently as I can, happy to be alone and somewhat amused. Dreams overtakes me, and I doze off thinking about how hilarious it's going to be when Nott and Pritchard find out they both fancy Astoria. Neither of them is even good looking…

{}

… _So if you could please put a shrinking charm on my piano and send it back with Aquila, I would appreciate it._

_Thank you Mother.  
Much Love,  
Draco._

It's morning time, and I finish of my note. Sealing my letter, grabbing a bit of rope to tie it to Aquila's wiry foot I don my favourite grey coat and striped scarf. I'm ready to go out in the chilled weather. And leave Nott snoring like a congested troll.

It is only 7 am, the earliest classes start at 8:30, so I'm trying to make little noise as I amble down the stairs and through the common room to the hall. I want _no_ interruptions.

It's very strange to be up and about at this hour. I've never actually been out of the dorm this early, let alone my bed. Normally I'm relishing in the warmness of it, normally I can't even get up. But I have a task at hand.  
Strolling down the hallway, you could hear a pin drop. Everything is completely silent except for a few ghosts here and there, the occasional student appears, likely off to the library to finish an assignment. The paintings are the only thing alive, figuratively of course, and some question me as I walk through the maze of the castle.

"What are _you_ doing up, Slytherin boy?" One knight in a Scottish field asks, ready to fight me.

"Yes," pipes in a pretty witch sitting beside a harp, "what a peculiar time to be up and dressed to go outside."

"It is none of _your _business what I do with my time." I huff, still in a groggy daze from this early hour.

I pick up my stride, wanting to get away from these stupid portraits….

"Ooh, testy isn't he? We were just asking a question!" The witch says, her voice trailing as I advance further. "What a fiery boy…."

Shaking my head, I put on my gloves as I reach the exit.

"Brr,'  
Damn, it's _freezing. _I shiver as I push myself out the large front doors and into the chilly breeze.

Bundling up my scarf is the only solace I have, and I push it over my ears, trudging through the snow along the path to the tower. The stone steps are slippery, but I quickly make my way up. Inside the confines of the owlery, all I hear are deafening hoots and scratches of hundreds of owls. The wind howls and licks me as it passes through the windowless panes.

There are at least 35 eagle owl, my bird's breed. I scan the room for at least 5 minutes before giving up and calling out:

"Aquila! Come."

A loud squawk resonates through the room I turn, managing to duck just in the nick of time as my ginormous pet soars overhead.

"Goodness, don't scare me like that," I tell him, holding a hand to my beating heart. I must admit I have a strange attachment to Aquila. I got him when I was about 7 or 8, he was a constant source of companionship I had outside my parents. He's grown very loyal and protective towards me, he's one of the only creatures I could consider a real friend and comfort. The best part about him is that doesn't offer advice or criticisms and could only listen to my woes.

He hoots as he lands on my shoulder, weighing me down basically with how slight I've become. 2 ½ ft he is, one of the largest that many have ever seen.

"Been hiding from me huh? Don't want to venture out in this coldness? Well sorry my fine feathered friend, but you must deliver ASAP."

"…_Is someone in here_?" says a girls voice at the archway.

Oh god, I've been petting him shamelessly, talking to him like a human being.

I shift startled, turning a shade of pink. I know I sound like a right idiot, fawning all over him. I hoped that whoever is there has not heard me.

Into the room Cho Chang comes sprawling in. As soon as she sees me her eyes widen, and she cowers, stopping in her tracks.

"Yes?" I snap, somewhat annoyed at her response to me.  
What does she think I'm going to do?

"I just…was going to…?"

Aquila lets out a loud "HOO", and Cho jumps rather comically with fright, out of her wits.  
Honestly, it's as if I'm holding a wand to her head.

"Spit it out, I'm not going to hex you for Merlin's sake." I urge as she composes herself, stifling a mirthless laugh.

"I just needed to grab a friend's owl….because she has been sick lately and we have to take her to H-Hagrid. Before class starts."

Well what was all the fuss about, then?_, _I wonder shaking my head.

Cho hastily glances around the room much in the fashion that I did looking for her owl. I survey her, watching her spots a bright red one at the left. She swoops it up into her grip and jogs hastily out of the room.

"What, no goodbye?" I smirk, whirling around once again.

I place Aquila down on a small wooden table with a bowl of treats and fish out my request…but of course I am unable to retrieve it.

"_Blast."_ I curse the dropping temperature as I shake off my coat and search through its many hidden pockets, (an anti-theft device made by the designer, just in case).

I hear footsteps behind me, being disturbed once again. I huff, however this time I concentrate on finding my parchment rather than the other visitor. It's probably Cho again, didn't grab the right bloody owl.

"_Ahh!_"

The shriek makes me flinch, dropping my jacket to the floor. Who the hell is so offended by my presence they must cause a foul scene?

I turn to witness Hermione Granger standing in the doorway, the source of the noise, a hand clutched to her chest.  
Her cheeks are flushed, her hair sticking out at all ends from under her beanie. I don't think I've often seen her that surprised.

"Oh, it's just _you_ Granger." I say relieved, attempting to be nonchalant, my interrupter revealed. "Nearly gave me a heart attack woman."

Granger turns a dark shade of red, mumbling, "You just scared me, I didn't know you were in here..."

I love that she said that she was frightened 'you' were in here specifically, not just somebody.

I ignore her, shoving my numbing hands into the pocket of my trousers for the piece of twine, wanting to prepare Aquila before the note. I feel the rope in my hands, and along with it the letter at my fingertips. Well, hallelujah.

"_Finally…"`_

I blow on my hands for some heat and bend down for my jacket, saving myself from the cold. Granger is bold I find, she stuns me with her coolness of plunking down a barn owl onto the same table as Aquila. Her bird pecks and nibbles at the treats upon in, apparently famished.

Without speaking, we do the owl tying business. Until, that is, she shocks me again.

"So…" she stops when she notices my scrunched eyebrows.  
She actually _spoke_ to me, was going to anyhow. Starting a conversation and saying something that isn't impolite to me?

"So…?" I imitate her.

"Um" she gulps nervously, wiggling her legs. "Are you writing to your parents as well? To get your instrument for the class?"

Then she adds, "The music class I mean," in case I was as thick as a doughnut.

My face turns sour at her question. Is she trying to keep tabs on me for Potter?

"As a matter of fact I am, Granger. Why do you care?" I inquire bluntly.

"I just…" she is choosing her words carefully, but stops. Yes, definitely a reason for the small talk. Since when has she found me tolerable?

Something must be wrong with her. I shrug and then set my magnificent animal on an arm.

"Have a safe flight will you?" I murmured lovingly to the bird before thrusting upwards and sending him off into the morning sunlight.

"Is that…a _bubo bubo? _A Eurasian Eagle Owl?" the girl to my right bursts out expertly, before she can stop herself it seems. "Those are very rare, and hard to catch! One of the largest of its kind."

I glance at her puzzled once again. Why is she telling me shit I already know? Or is this her version of being friendly?

Dryly I reply, "Yes it is. He's mine. Maybe if you got rid of that mangy cat of yours you could have one too."

She gives me a scathing look, as if to say, _I was only trying to be nice, you git._

To be honest, I was teasing her more than insulting her, but obviously because it's _me _I'm being a dick. She picks up the common barn owl she was using and sets it free too, lips pursed.

Much to her dismay, the envelope she attached comes loose and before the owl has flown away, the letter tied to its leg has come loose. It's swooping around the Owlery and rousing the birds, all of them eager and wanting to deliver it.

"Oh no!" she groans, jumping all around trying to retrieve it. It keeps getting caught in the bursts of air coming in and out through the windows. I fail at repressing a laughed and begin to leave the room; no my problem.

Yet suddenly, before I know it she's gotten so close to me in her flustered state that she hasn't realized where she's been stepping until it's too late.

She falls on top of me, pushing me hard onto my back after skimming a shoe with mine. We tumble to the ground, no control of our bodies. My first instinct is to blow my top off, hitting my shoulders and skull against the wooden floor _hurt_. But she's observing my eyes, embarrassed and apologetic, waiting for a reaction as her chest pushes in and out from the excursion. My expression softens at her clear vulnerability and her hazel eyes turn from mortification to confusion. She manages to push herself up with her hands, untangling her legs from mine. She accidentally trails her hands along my sides as she stands, a surge of something deep in the pit of his stomach at the contact. Something I'm not sure I understand or like…

Granger is at a loss for words as she regains balance and sees her envelope lying on the ground. She quickly lunges to pick it up and whistles for another owl, wasting no time. A grey one flies to her and she mutters instructions to him. It picks up the letter in its beak instead of having it tied to its leg, and off it goes, her second attempt successful.

By this time I'm standing upright, dusting off and barely concentrating enough to be upset my expensive clothes are somewhat ruined. I'm still fixed on the strange emotions I just experienced.

"Malfoy..?" She utters as she's about to leave. Why is she still talking to me?

"Yes?"  
One hand placed on the side of the archway, and facing away from the direction I'm looking her body language indicates that she is unsure if she should speak and too shamefaced to regard me.

I watch her expectantly, waiting for a follow-up to her own question.

"I'm sorry."

And then she disappears.

_Sorry for what? _ It was clearly an accident.

Was she sorry she basically felt me up? Invaded my personal space? Maybe she hasn't realized she did so…..And if she _did_ know, why would she be sorry? Did she regret touching me? Well, probably, but that wasn't the point. I didn't get angry, show any disgust.  
I'm not a bigoted piece of garbage anymore, surely if she's speaking to me properly, she realizes that?

I shake my head, troubled. I button up the rest of his coat, glad I can finally leave the damn place, and go snuggle up in bed, thinking I'll skive History and wait until Astronomy at 11:30, something Granger isn't taking with me.

"_Girls_."


	5. One-Sided Fist Fights

**_I just made an enemy of someone I don't know,_**

_**And they are upset about somethin' that I must have done. **_  
_**It really doesn't make much sense, well i've got no statement in my defense.**_  
_**I know, no matter what, no matter who, no matter what I do: Somebody hates me,**_  
_**Somebody hates me, and I hate somebody too.  
- Somebody Hates Me, **_**Reel Big Fish**

* * *

It's 8 AM when I find myself down in the Great Hall for breakfast. As I take my seat, Harry and Ron half-asleep, I overhear them grumbling about how early it is.

"Really, I mean History is bad enough on its own; we have to have it at 8:30 in the morning?" Ron yawns, almost falling into his eggs.

"Hermione, where have you been?" Harry inquires as he rubs his eyes.

"Yeah!" pipes up Ron, "Did _you_ sleep in? Later than us I mean, it's not exactly sleeping in is it?"

"We didn't see you in the common room so we came down to eat, sorry we didn't wait…"

"Oh-" I pause, still uncomfortable about what happened between Malfoy and I just an hour ago. I'm not really sure I should spill about the incident, they'll only react badly.

"That's fine, I was in the Owlery this morning actually," I try nonchalantly, although I'm aware I'm sounding a bit too cheery.

"Ther Owlewee? Wha foor?" my ginger friend asks, mouth full of bacon. I roll my eyes – Ron has this tendency to stuff his face and _then_ inquire about something. It's just a bit more than off-putting.

"I was writing to my mother, asking her to send me my violin," I smile, excited by the prospect.

"Violin?" Ron asks confused as he gulps down some milk.

"For the music class?...Honestly Ronald, do you choose to have the brain retention of a troll?"

Ron hands me a glare, but Harry laughs, spluttering his orange juice onto the table.

"So you really are going to join that class then are you?"

"Well - obviously. I love playing music, have I never mentioned it? And shouldn't you be sending an owl Ron, ask your Mum for something? Harry?"  
The two boys exchange looks.

"Uh…I don't ever recall you saying you enjoyed music Hermione," Harry admits with his head down, carefully avoiding the question.

"Y-yeah….I don't, yeah…" Ron trails off, and I get the feeling that they were all talk and no action.

"What?"

"Oh," Ron ventures. "We kind of just, never pictured you as being a musical genius…."

At my expression, Harry tries to cover up Ron's poor choice of words.

"Not that we don't think you're brilliant Hermione, and not that we don't think you _could_ play an instrument, but I dunno, we just thought of you as more of a book and common sense er, genius, rather than having any artistic ability…."

Ron slaps his forehead and shakes his head, mortified.

"_Way to go, mate_." He mutters.

I try to remain calm at this news, definitely can see where they are coming from, know they're not trying to be mean, but I never thought I would come off as being only book smart. It hits me a little harder than I'd like that I don't appear at all artistic.

"Right.." I reply simply. "I see. Well I guess you'll just have to come watch me in my audition and I can help you practice for yours."

They know they've made me a bit irritated, so I stare stone-faced at them, waiting for an objection.

"We were _always_ going to go to your audition, weren't we Ron?" Harry urges, lips pursed, his eyes bulging.

"Oh- oh yeah! Sure."

"Erm – why did you go to the Owlery so early Hermione?" Harry continues, trying to change the subject once again. I really wish they'd just spit out whatever it is they're trying to say.

God, the owlery._  
_No, stop it Hermione, they don't know what happened. And you will _not_ tell them the whole truth or they'll go ballistic even though nothing happened….  
It's Malfoy, bad idea. Just leave that part out.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, sorry, I was just, thinking about…yes." The two boys exchange glances, this time confused. "I went early so it would reach my mum as soon as possible. I need to practise do I not? I want to be in the Advanced category. Hopefully. Intermediate would be fine I suppose…."

"I'm sure you'll be. Which owl did you use?" Harry asks casually, returning to his eggs.

He always has had a fascination for them ever since he first received Hedwig so many years ago. She was like a dog or cat; every owner likes theirs a little bit more than anyone else's. Usually, I use her. Harry is merely curious as to her replacement, but the thought of the owls make me turn bright red_._

"Oh well, I think it was brown…."  
"You _think_?"  
"You see, the envelope fell off the first owls ankle and I had to refasten-"

Before I finish, Malfoy walks into the hall distracting me, stretching groggily as he makes his way to the far end of the table. He looks exhausted.

Harry turns round puzzled, to see who I'm staring at. I can't look down fast enough so Ron does the same, and before I know it, they've both turned back scowling.

Damn it, why did I slip-up? Rather shrilly I try to finish my sentence: "I had to refasten the envelope onto another owl so I don't remember what kind it was!"

"Malfoy? Why were you staring at Malfoy!" Ron spits angrily, ignoring my statement.

"No reason…He was staring at me. Now about your instruments…"

"Anytime you feel the need to even glance at that idiot, there has to be something wrong," Harry maintains firmly. "Does he have any reason to watch you?"

"Oh….well he, er, we actually were both at the Owlery this morning, it was rather awkward…"

"How?" Harry demands.

"Stop it Harry, it really _was_ nothing."

"What happened?" He presses on, irking me further.

I decide to ignore him. "Don't worry about it, alright? I'll tell you later, now what are you boys going to play for the music class?"

"Hermione!" Harry shouts as several people look at their resident Gryffindor, surprised. Neville drops his pumpkin juice onto the table at the outburst.  
"Don't you 'Hermione' me, why do you keep avoiding the question?" I hiss.

"Why do you? !"

"I've just told you I _will_ tell you, so that doesn't matter!"

"Alright, alright!" Ron breaks in, hands spread out ready to level. "Hermione, we're really, really sorry, but Harry and I just don't want to join that class. Neither of us can play an instrument, and honestly, we don't need to make fools of ourselves just to keep you company. And besides, it's not like I can afford it..."

_What?_  
I shrink into my seat. I'm so excited about this, and they really think it'll be boring?  
"And...did you just suddenly decide this now? Last night you seemed to both think it was a pretty decent idea."

I'm trying to keep emotion out of my voice, I just had such high hopes for this year, and having them with me would be perfect.

"Erm…we decided last night in the boys' dormitory. We heard Dean talking about how he practiced his guitar for hours every day at home in London and Seamus has won awards for playing the fiddle." Harry explains. "We just don't have that big of a passion, Hermione. It would be better for you to go without us and enjoy it with people who enjoy it as well, right? We'd only be complaining about it all the time, and you know how much that annoys you."

Sighing, I give in, unsure of what to say. He's right, I only would've liked closer friends in a class she I'm bound to love as much if not more as Ancient Runes.

"I suppose….." Harry appears a little guilty, and Ron isn't even matching anyone's eyes. "What about Ginny?"

"Well, I _had_ to tell her I was going to join last night, didn't I? She was so excited about it…but she'll understand, she's cool that way. "The way he says it, makes me feel as if I am _not_ 'cool that way'.

We've barely had any tussles, because I haven't _seen _them on a daily basis for months. This is so uncomfortable.

"So, anyways…Hermione, about Malfoy…" Ron starts after a minute of silence.

"Ron, _please."_

All the blush that faded away minutes ago all come back in a snap of the fingers. Her anguish was replaced with embarrassment. The disappointment of their confession mingled with all this make me quite the unpleasant person.

"Just tell us, Hermione, your face says it all. Something happened."

"Well, _um_,…"

"Yeah?" the two repeat in unison.

"To be blunt…I fell on top of him," I shrug, failing at being nonchalant.

It really does _not _sound that horrible, but Ron's face turns scarlet from rage anyways, and Harry's mouth does that 'ick!' expression. Such babies.

"You fell? On top of _him?"_ Ron recaps slowly.

"Yes! Okay? The letter flew off the owl's ankle and it floated around in the wind. As Malfoy was leaving I accidentally fell on him because I tried to grab it, all the owls were going ballistic. I wasn't paying attention!"  
I'm in a huff, this is so awkward.

"Face on face, or back to face?"

"End of discussion! It is not a big deal alright, it doesn't _need _to be an ordeal. I'm going to go get my books from the dorms, I'll see you in History," I pull out the chair, ignoring the protesting noises they're making.

I don't think they've seen me so humiliated, but considering it's Malfoy we're dealing with, I seriously hope they don't blame me.

Ignoring their burning gazes, I hurriedly get out of the hall and scamper to the Gryffindor Tower, feeling very flustered indeed.

* * *

At the other end of the hall, Granger is getting up and leaving very quickly. I shudder at the memory of the encounter from earlier this morning.

After I got back to his room from the Owlery, I couldn't sleep. The moment when she fell on me was replaying in my head. The way she stared me in the eyes, her vision softened for some reason. I spent 30 minutes lying awake, sorting out my thought about this, getting nowhere. I decided to get up and go and do this mysterious thing called eating.

So now here I am, trying my hand at eating oatmeal. Something I hate, but hey, for once I'm hungry and I hope it gets down.

I spoon the cinnamon mush into my mouth. Even though it tastes fine, it just won't go down. So I spit it back out, a few giggles coming from the first years across from the table.  
Fuck's sake.

"_I need to eat something soon, or I'll die._"

{_One week later}_

Samuel Guertin, this short, thin, and elderly French professor once taught at Beauxbatons is rambling on. The curriculum changed at Beauxbatons a few years ago; wanting to ensure that everyone who attended was female, the male staff got been laid off. Apparently McGonagall is an old friend of his, so he came back to teach Defence Against the Dark Art at Hogwarts with the available space. Probably the only guy who applied.

I tap my foot impatiently, bored. This is mind-numbing. Admittedly, he's not a terrible replacement compared to the many others that have been a Hogwarts victim over the years. However, I feel that he's teaching far too much theory than actual practice and I want to go to sleep.

"_Oi, Malfoy, quit tapping your feet_!" I hear from behind me.

Finnigan, stupid short git he is, glares at me heatedly. Quite frankly, I've had enough of Seamus's annoying commands. It's been an ongoing thing, this demanding little tick that seems to have planted itself on my shoulder permanently. Only been nearly a month, and the kid acts like he owns me; simply won't do. I may be a coward at times, but I sure as hell am not going to be a pushover anymore.

"_Make me,"_ I retort, hissing so professor can't hear me.

"And zus, ze _ghoul_ is a razzer strange creature to defeat. Like ze mandrake, its scream can kill you, so rather zan trying to hex it you should charge at it, try to dismember its head by its neck and- yes Mistere Finnigan?" Guertin and plenty of other students notice Finnigan has his hand raised, a pained expression upon his ugly round face.

"Sir, Malfoy won't stop tappin' his foot. It's driving me nuts, and I asked him to, but he won't stop!" he exclaims in his thick Irish accent. He sounds like a tattling 3 year old.

What a baby.

"Mistere Malfoy?" Guertin questions me, "Is zis true?"

"I suppose." I reply simply. "I _was_ tapping my feet, it's an anxious habit you see. But, I would've gladly stopped if he had _actually_ asked me."

"I _did_ ask you, you dolt!" Ooh, not very friendly. Steam puffs out of him almost.

"No, actually, you didn't. You merely _told_ me to stop. Maybe if you'd asked nicely…. "I trail.  
This shit has got to stop, I haven't done _anything _to these people at all this year and still I get treated as if I'm public enemy #1.

"Oh well, Mistere Finnigan, you did not azk Mistere Malfoy to stop politely. Courtezy, my boy, courtezy. Say please to Monsieur Malfoy."

"…._What?"_ he bellows. Several amused whispers arise from my few classmates, while the ones dressed in red and gold appear shocked at the teacher's suggestion.

"Mistere Finnigan, do not raise your voice in zis classroom." Guertin instructs gaily. "If you 'ave a problem with tapping feett, ask Mistere Malfoy to stop, _please._ Go on then!"

He turns to face me, and my delight is growing though I must be silently enjoying this small victory. He utters through gritted teeth and slitted eyes:

"Can you _please_ stop tapping your stupid-"  
"_Ahem."_  
"Your feet. Please stop tapping your feet…"

I smirk and nod, "Of course Seamus, be my pleasure."

He's livid and begins to whisper his frustrations to other Gryffindors. Potter and Weasley shoot daggers out of the corner of their beady little eyes, while Dean Thomas is about ready to pop me one in the jaw.  
Well there's my amusement for the afternoon. Riling that lot is the only pleasure I get these days.

Guertin continues the lesson on phantom creatures as if nothing has occurred, evidently not realizing the slow tension between the desks rising. Hell, they can have at me for all I care.

_"Why were you tapping your feet?_" Nott whispers suddenly, who up until that moment was ignoring my presence though he's sat beside me.  
"_Like I said…nervous habit."_ _  
"No really, usually you are slumped over and comatose. Why?"  
"I –" _I feel hesitation in being friendly and confiding with Nott. He really is the only other person to talk to, yet he's hated me for as long as I can remember.

Fuck it...I used to tell everyone everything, and it's not like it's really secret_._

_"I want my bloody piano_._" _

_"What! You haven't gotten it yet? Auditions are in 3 days!" _Nott scolds me as if I need that this moment.

"_Don't remind me_…" I sigh. Been a week since I've sent the letter, and still no sign of a response, not even a note explaining why there`s been no word. So many times I daydream of attempting to try 'Accio piano!'. That isn't specific enough though and could potentially cause a disaster. Still, if I don't get it soon, it's an option out there on the table.

Lunch is right after Defence, the mail comes at this time on Wednesdays. Which is why I'm anxious, hence the tapping, hence the petulance.

I haven't dared to since I arrived, but I give in to chancing a glance at the ornate clock that's hung high on the wall: 12:14.

_Time to go!_

"Alright, we shall finish up ze lesson on ghouls next class, bon annee mes amis!" Guertin announces as the bell chimes at 12:15.

The students amble up, creaking chairs and shuffling bags. Everyone is eager to go eat, and my enemies and 'friends' sidle out of the classroom.

I'm attempting to book it down to the Great Hall, alone. And suddenly a pair of hands are felt on my back, suddenly the gut feeling in this moment is that I'm straight fucked.

The hands clutch my robes and yank backwards, pushing my uncoordinated body against the wall.

Without surprise, it's Finnigan. Accompanied by Thomas and that lout, Cormac McLaggen. When I said he could have at me, I meant a solo battle.

"Think it's funny to make an arse outta me do ya? Huh, Malfoy?" he fumes.

At this juncture, I'm barely mad at this assault, just annoyed. I knew it was bound to happen sometime, I thought that it'd be Weasley though to do the honours.

"Maybe," I reply, earning a harder shove against the stone.

"You're not so tough are you now that you have nobody by your side?" Thomas joins in on the taunting, unsurprising given that he was a captive in my home last year with Granger and the lot. I suppose he told Finnigan, didn't he?

"Or maybe, I don't give a flying broomstick anymore about what you all have to say about me," I retort.

"So you admit you did before then? The _mighty, all powerful, I'm-rich-so-nothing-can-stop-me_ Draco Malfoy?"McLaggen teases me, viciously might I add.

"Put me down Seamus…._please?" _I jeered at him, imitating how he said it in Defence.

"Shut up! You miserable sack of shit! Why did you come back you two timing Death Eater? Nobody likes you, why show your miserable face and ruin Hogwarts reputation?' finnigan yells, slamming me continually at every word he speaks.

My vision begins to haze, I begin to see spots, but the anger I feel overshadows any pain at the moment. I can't fucking believe his _nerve._

"_What did you just call me?_"

"A Death Eater!" pipes in a third year Hufflepuff daringly. Oh great, now there's a bloody crowd! "My mum says your family had You Know Who at your house last year! You must've been his followers!"

"I didn't ask for that to happen!" I shout, placing hands on Finnigans, struggling to get away.

"So it's true then! You're part of the reason I had to spend months in exile last year!"

"No, I – I didn't agree with _anything _they said or did! What would _you_ do if the Dark Lord just decided to make your house his place of residence?" I am surprisingly thankful he didn't mention that he was a prisoner in my basement to a bunch of spectators, but holy fuck, why do we have to do this here? Why now?

"Try to kill him you idiot! I don't _care_ if I get hurt in the process!" he berates me.

By now there are people drawn in, pools of kids surveying the downfall of Draco Malfoy. Among the throng lay curious Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, as well as a few Gryffindors – feeling that I've finally gotten what I deserved; payback is certainly a bitch.

Quickly Thomas grabs a hold of my left arm. Immediately I'm aware of what he's trying to pull but I'm helpless unless I hit back. And I just can't do that. I can't when my stomach is turning with guilt, knowing in my heart that I deserve it.

"Don't!" I yell helplessly.

But protests don't work often do they? Dean thrusts up the sleeve, I'm rendered speechless because I can't believe that people would be compelled to sink so low. As soon as Thomas views what is etched into my skin, he drops my dangling limb like a hot coal.

"He's got the mark…he's one of them!" he murmurs hoarsely. A bit fucking dramatic, don't you think?

The people gasp in horror. "Skeeter was right!" a second year Ravenclaw shouts, doing my head in.

"I _was_ one of them," I spit. "I didn't ask for it. Now that he's gone, there is no point in having any followers, is there!"

"You still _were_ one of them, you stupid git!" His temper rising.

"I-I didn't want to be! Do you really think I could kill somebody?" I find myself pleading, hoping nobody thinks of Dumbledore. Because if that gets out, surprised it hasn't yet, I'm a dead man walking.

"No – you're too much of a coward," Finnigan enunciates, looking me in the eye.

He slowly lets me away, appearing to be disgusted. I released the breath I was holding in, brush off my shirt as I start to walk away – but then a fury of fists is upon my face.

Dean has started beating me senseless – obviously taking his frustrations on the only person he feels is worthy of it.

And the pain is considerable, but there is no use trying to protest because it's been a long time coming. So I stand there taking it; the only attempt at I make is trying to shield my face. But no, old Dean is grasping a hold the back of my skull, making sure I can't observe anything but my attacker.

Finnigan joins in, assaulting my stomach now, rendering me unable to breathe. He yanks dangling fabric to hold me up as he pounds a fist into my ribs.  
I feel my skin heating up, choking for air, feeling absolutely useless. I want to do something, anything, but my mind is going and no strength can be found in any ounce of my body.

Scores of blood pour out of my nose, but they drip onto the floor. I have no idea who is doing what now, but somebody is relentlessly aiming again and again at his jaw and the other has made an art project of my torso, a collage of bruises forming for certain.

And my heart and head is pounding, but suddenly somebody is my saviour.

"Oi! That's enough!" It's Nott's voice from behind McLaggen, who stands with a frown on his face.

A twinge of blame resonates through my whole self at the relief I feel when they let me go. I have not appreciated sooner the fact that I have somebody who understands me a little at Hogwarts.  
The silence is palpable, the only sound from anybody is my rasping breaths regulating to a normal speed.

Nott barrells through the din, towering over most, and peels Dean and then Seamus off of me for good. When they let go of my back I slide to the ground, huffing heavily.

"_Back off_!" He offeres me a hand, I return him a look that clearly says "Thank you" while extending my own fingers.

As the seventh year boys clear the space where I was, the spectators all give horrified and shocked gasps.

God, I must look terrible, but honestly for once I don't even care. This all feels surreal, numb. I cannot believe that justhappened.

"Great Hall," I pant to Nott, who nods and strides in front as if he fancies himself a body guard. It's a strange sight, because Nott is rather skinny and not intimidating at all. I'd laugh if this didn't make me feel worse, my saviour is almost as pathetic as me.

As we pass my assaulters, I have no words, mere I glare at them with my normal menacing demeanour. They are already starting to regret their decision at the faces they return me, guess they're gonna plead temporary insanity.

The walk to the Great Hall is disastrous and humiliating. Everyone is openly pointing and whispering, some give audible cries. Nott reaches for the door, and opens it, I bob my head in thanks.

The pair of us try to quietly make the way to the Slytherin table, but my favourite people, the 7th year Gryffindors, (AKA Potter, Granger & Weasley) gawk. I take the seat in my usual spot at his far left table, immediately chugging a glass of water. It's down in 3 sips.

"Well….er, th-thanks." I mutter. A rare occasion it is that a Malfoy relays a thank you, but this one time it is far more than necessary.

Nott raises his eyebrows, having never heard me say the 't' word.  
"Sometimes, people just go too far," he responds. "You're welcome. I know what it's like to have people not on your side...think you're scum. And besides now you owe me one,' He joshes lightly.

I smirk. Classic Slytherin; there always was a catch.

"Oh my god, what happened to you!" To the right, Astoria is gaping at me as she raises her head up from a book she was reading (_67 Remedies to Uncommon Skin Problems_ by Wyatt Pimplusty).

"Little bit of a fist fight," I mumble unpleasantly. "A bit one-sided though."

I find it rather cowardly that _now_ everyone wants to beat me up, when Potter has done so many times before I was all alone with no cronies. Nott is rocking back and forth, catching my eye eagerly, as if to say; Now's your chance to repay the favour.

"That's ghastly!" Astoria notes.

"Yeah, well it would have been much worse if Nott hadn't come to uh….rescue me," I say, secretly wanting to roll my eyes. "probably would've had broken ribs – probably do actually now that I think about it…" I poked myself tentatively in the side and wince at the scorching pain. _Ow, motherfucker!_

"You rescued him?" Astoria says with glistening features. "How sweet!"

"It was nothing, houses stick together right?" Nott quips modestly, smiling at me: _Well done!_

The two begin talking, probably flirting, so I attempt to clear up the wounds with my wand to avoid further gore and infection. Transfiguring a spoon into a mirror, (which is difficult, might I add) I want to vomit. I shuddered at this unrecognizable face: 4 places on my cheeks and forehead the skin is split open; my nose no doubt broken; blood and bruises battering the rest.

"_Viscus amendo_" I incant to himself, sealing the open flesh on my chin. I try to avoid flinching at the pain. I`ve never had to use this spell before, had no idea how much it hurt. Which is a damn lot.

"Want me to repair your nose?' I hear from behind him. People need to stop sneaking up on me. Graham Pritchard is standing with his wand at the ready.

"Uh…."

"Trust me, I'm good. My dad has the hugest and pointiest snout I've ever seen, always breaks it on something, and Mum taught me to fix it cause she was tired of doing it always."

"I guess it can't hurt…I don't want to go see Madam Pomfrey and spend the night in the hospital wing." Graham scrunches his mouth, finding the statement weird. I can see the judgemental thought bubble: '_Malfoy always wants people to notice when he's been damaged..' _

Well not today. Not ever again. I just want people to leave me to myself, but I can't seem to stem my comebacks long enough to not piss everybody off.

"Ready?" he asks. I no apprehensively. "_Episkie!"_

A sharp snap and a light pain. Immediately my breathing is much easier again. I inhale deep just to be sure. Smooth sailing. The man does a good job.

I notice Nott, Graham, & Astoria surveying the damage, seeing what the results of my 'surgery'.

"Why are you all being nice to me all of a sudden?" I inquire, genuinely confused.

"You've changed Malfoy…I'm not sure how I feel about it, but it seems to be good. And nobody deserves that level of degradation. We're not kids anymore, they should try to let it go when you're not being a dick. You're not as arrogant and snide as you normally are Drakes." Nott smiles and winks.

"Drakes?..." Graham and Astoria giggle.

Ew, no. "Look I appreciate what you did Nott, and everyone else - but if you any of you ever call me that I'll-"

I'm interrupted by the sounds of a hundred screeches: owls!

"You'll beg me to say it again," Nott finishes, and I pull a face while the others laugh.

I feel relief course through me, the idea that they don't hate me giving me more gratification than I thought it could.

And with the crisis averted, I'm examining the sky for Aquila…and suddenly – there he is!

He swoops down magnificently and drops a package that a camera could fit in. Catching itm I find myself smiling. A _real_ smile. The kind you get from laughter or after a wonderful kiss.  
I've tried to teach myself to stow these away, the others so taken back they stare at me quizzically. But I don't care.

I unwrap the gift excitedly, oblivious to the rest of the world. Quickly, I skim the letter attached to it.

"Is that it then…?"  
Nott is talking to me, but I tune him out.

_Draco,  
I apologize that this was so late – I was conflicted on whether I should send it or not, you know father and I haven't really approved of your love of music. Muggles are the main advocates… Anyways, I contemplated not sending it to you at all, but I couldn't bear to see my boy unhappy at school. I hope you're doing well_ – I snort aloud at this part - _I hope people have made nice to you as well, I heard that lots of pure blooded families refused to let their Slytherin children attend. I'm such a mess. Miss you!_

_Good luck my darling, remember to write,  
Mother xoxo_

Staring at the note, deciding to reread it once again, I shake my head and place it in my pocket. The sealed opening I rip to carefully grab hold of my sexy, shrunken Fazioli grand piano.

Merlin, it`s so beautiful. I fall deeper in love with it every time I view it. The exterior made of dark shiny maple, the keys a gleaming white. It even has my name carved into the side in cursive.

Pressing a pinky onto the miniature piano, it gives a soft, satisfying clang. I can't wait any longer, I need to get lost in the notes. Need to forget about what just happened. I try to be unaware of everything as I exit the hall, giddy and excited.

'Where're you going!" Nott calls, but I'm hobbling away.

"Room 34, the Practice Room," I state as I leave my classmates mystified. They've likely never seen such a happy Malfoy.

Only 3 days till the auditions and so much music to choose from –once I begin practicing a few favourite pieces, I hope I'll know right away which piece to perform.

After excruciating minutes of dithering to the North tower where the room is (ribs aching painfully), I know I'm probably going have to go to Madam Pomfrey later to mend his bones.

"But for now, we play." I clamber into the warm purple room; it's covered in a plush rug, while thousands of composition books fill in bookcases all across the walls. Only a few instruments line the interior, an enchanted bubble around each of the cases. When popped the bubble shrieks noisily, indicating that somebody has tried to steal one of them. Ingenious, I must remember that spell when I leave

Placing my wooden love on the floor, it fits nicely in the corner and I enunciate my enchantment: "_Engorgio."_

The piano erupts to morph into the beautiful monstrosity of an instrument it is, my delight growing at every passing moment.

A cushioned stool from across the room, my nerves settling slow, I sit down eagerly, cracking my fingers together. I swish my wand to close the door, I adore playing alone. And right now I need to, it's almost a therapy.

I close my eyes and place my hands onto the keys, deciding on Beethoven's _Pathetique Sonata. _The sound reverberating through the room, the instant calm I feel, I know I'm definitely going to be here for a long while.


	6. Gossip

**_I ain't worried, about a goddamn thing.  
_****_I hear them talking; I ain't listening.  
_****_I take chances that most won't take – Right?  
_****_I get knocked down I won't break.  
_****_Get it clear and make no mistake; this town's filled with rattlesnakes._****_  
_**

**_- I Ain't Worried_, Rancid**

* * *

"Sir, it really was nothing"

"My boy, I know we've had a lack of, hmm, shall we say we've yet to get on, but please, you do not need to feel distanced from me; I am your head of house, I do care about my pupils."

Professor Slughorn is puzzled; not only am I, Draco Malfoy, a student who has craved attention more than anyone else he's probably ever seen at Hogwarts, covered in bruises and limping. But I won't say who caused me such injuries or what happened.

I know he's thinking that perhaps something potentially problematic was happening behind his back. If the king of dramatics lips are sealed, there must be something seriously wrong….

"It was just a…mishap, I'm sure it won't happen again," I lie. The chances of getting beaten up again are, ironically, pretty high if any teacher found out about what happened. Like I'm about to tell that to Slughorn.

It was a mistake to go to Madam Pomfrey; as soon as I walked into the Hospital Wing two days ago, she gasped and made me sit down immediately. After she examined me, she determined four broken ribs, and minor damage suffered to my lovely spleen. Thank Merlin for healing magic. Afterwards she ran out of the room and came back 10 minutes later with an outraged McGonagall, who interrogated me for at least half an hour. Yawn.

I'm not about go blabbing that easily. Finnigan and Thomas would've gotten into serious trouble, especially if she knew about how they'd shown everyone the mark. Makes my blood boil just thinking of it. Last year I would've taken the opportunity to screw my enemies over; but I can't risk the professors knowing about this, even though most of them probably know what I got myself into. I really have no clue how many people are aware of the Dumbledore incident. Keeping in the dark is the aim this year; just get by under the radar so all the shit from last two years can mull over.

So now I'm sitting in Slughorn's office, the second time today, in the same uncomfortable crickety chair, the old buffoon trying to wiggle the truth from me.

"But why will you not tell me? ! Surely, you might want some sort of justice served? Some retribution to be served onto your perpetrators."

"Well, sir. It's not exactly easy…nobody is really that – fond of me." I say simply.

Slughorn frowns. "True or not, how is that relevant?"

"I have a theory," I muse. "That if I say who was involved, more violence will come upon me. For that reason, I feel it's in my best interest to keep my mouth shut."

"This is a serious matter Draco!" Slughorn raises his voice, getting increasingly agitated. "If bad behaviour is going on in this school, we need to be able to cut it off."

"Well, if I say nothing, I'm sure I can just extend my power into blackmail."

"B-but, that isn't –Mr. Malfoy!"

I can see right through this man's game; he doesn't care I'm hurt, he simply wouldn't want trouble given to him from McGonagall; after all, I'm his student, his technical responsibility.  
"Look sir, I appreciate your…'concern', but if you don't mind, I have auditions for Music Fundamentals in a few hours."

And before he can say anything more, I'm grabbing my Potions books (had the class previous to this lovely conversation), and walk out of the room. As I'm closing the thick wooden door behind me, Slughorn has his huge moustache in a twist on his finger, frustrated.

I stroll down the stone corridor, wincing at this stupid constant pain, making way to the Common Room to get dressed properly; McGonagall sent out a set of rules for the audition date about a week ago.

I take the crumpled piece of paper out of my pocket halfway down the hall, one that I've duplicated for personal use, and opened up to re-read it for the 100th time.

Rules and Regulations for the Auditions of Fundamentals and Composition of Music:

_1) Only Classical music pieces may be used for the audition. (Compositions from the Medieval – Modern era are accepted)*_

_2) Dress for success!_

_3) If you attend the full auditions to watch your peers, good, polite behaviour is expected; any rude outburst and you will be removed immediately, your audition voided if you haven't given it already._

_4) You are given permission to come and watch if you are not participating yourself. However, once you enter through the front entrance you may not leave, and you may not enter; the door will be sealed. Leaving privileges are only for those who chose to audition._

_3) You may exit through the side corridor when you are finished your audition, you are not obligated to stay, but you must remain seated until your turn._

_6) If the instrument you choose to play does not have many integral parts in orchestral or symphonic music, you are permitted to bewitch another to play on its own for accompaniment.(Note: Spells will be cast to check for tampering)_

_7) Auditions begin promptly at 5 PM after class in the Great Hall; dinner service will be delayed until 8 PM._

_8) Submit your audition form to Professor McGonagall immediately when you enter the Hall, and take your seat until you are called._

_9) Any spells, potions, or supplements detected to enhance your performance and ability will result in an instant ban from the class and pending expulsion from Hogwarts._

_10) If you require a borrowed instrument you must request it to the Headmistress at least 2 days prior to the day of._

_* Note that in the duration of the class, you will be able to choose different pieces of music for performances, but for the audition, the assessment needs to include something of calibre and standard to what you will be playing on tests._

_Good luck!_

_- Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_

So serious, McGoogles.  
I'm folding it back up, but mutter 'Evanesco' to make it vanish before my eyes. Memorised it the third time I'd read it; now it's just making me nervous.

Rounding a corner towards the dungeons, nearing the destination, I hear little whispers from a secret conversation. Once they see me (A group of younger Ravenclaw girls) as I appear in the new passage, they freeze.

I'm raising an eyebrow at them surpassing them, pretending to ignore them, but really eavesdropping as they begin to whisper more violently.  
This is getting bloody irritating, been happening a lot lately….

_"…heard he was a Death eater.."  
"…hasn't snitched though…"  
"Dean…..Seamus….so uncharacteristically mean…"  
"..Nott….so brave!"_

I stop abruptly as I catch on to what they're saying and sigh. I don't turn around however, so as not to reveal the creeping. I'm right up to the wall where the entrance to the common room is.

"Salazar."  
The password allows the large stone archway to appear out of nowhere and as I saunter into it, I address loudly to the cluster of Ravenclaw girls without looking back:

"Should you really be in this hallway?"

They gasp scrambling away frantically. Hmm, maybe that'll teach them.  
Satisfied, I step onto the forest-coloured carpet, the door fading back behind me.

* * *

"I just can't believe that Nott would've defended him like that!"  
"Well, I was there, and he definitely had the Dark Mark –"  
"_What_!"  
"I knowww! But Nott's parents were Death Eaters too right? Maybe he has one, and his actions were a sort of like a brotherhood thing…."

Lavender and Parvati will _not_ stop conjuring up theories about the 'Draco Malfoy Incident". They aren't the only ones…all I've heard for the past 2 days are rumours and re-tellings about what happened after Defence class. Seamus and Dean are slumped in the corner, getting sick of questions, looking murderously at anyone who asks them any. In my opinion, they're paranoid. In Harry's, Malfoy deserved it.

Currently I'm sitting near the unlit fireplace in Gryffindor's common room, trying to memorize the composition to play it by heart; audition in an hour!  
I am _not _prepared.  
I _must _remember to detache in the eighth bar, and my tremolo in the middle is off, agh!

I'm being interrupted constantly, what with all these people caught up in drama and useless things like fights.

The Head of the Houses came in to interrogate several times the past couple days; it's the first time in quite a few years where a culprit hasn't been found for an 'attack' like this. Nobody said a thing about what happened to the professors faces, and yet that's all you can hear being discussed in the hallways; such dimwitted teachers. If caught, Dean and Seamus would probably be in an immense amount of trouble. Harry, Fred and George got banned from Quidditch beating up Draco in 5th year, what would be the consequence of an unprovoked tussle? Even if it was Umbridge, surely McGonagall wouldn't' be much more forgiving, regardless of what foul things Draco has done.

The hot topic that's come up the most (and the only interesting development to myself) I find is not the fact that Malfoy got the tar punched out of him, nor that he's given proof he was a Death Eater. It's that he hasn't told anyone about any of it. Malfoy not complaining about an injury? That's like a cat barking. Not in his nature.

I heard Dean talking to Seamus worriedly in the corridor the other day:

"I reckon it's so he makes us look like the villains…."  
"No! He'll probably string us along for so long, driving us hysterical from fear of him fessing up…and then when we've just about gone mad he'll tell someone and we'll be kicked out."  
"Bastard!…"

Maybe that's his play, yet a niggle part of me thinks that he won't say a word, and that's…odd.  
It might be a good thing; this inter-house relationship starting. Yet whenever I mention it to Ron and Harry they assume that obviously the Slytherins just have a hidden agenda, causing me to wonder if they'd ever let this grudge go. After all, Malfoy, aside from his outburst on the train, seems to have sort of backed off.

"He's not exactly good looking, but he's…_myetserious, _an underdog, an ugly duckling."

Even more bizarre is how people are in awe of Theodore Nott; Draco's 'saviour'. Unheard of for not only a Slytherin to stand up for someone else, but to not even use threats or magic, simply command, is abnormal by any means. Lots of girls are flirting with him from other houses.

_I don't know, I don't get it, this whole thing.  
I always thought I could calculate the likes of Malfoy well, why isn't he calling home, rounding up the troops? Why isn't he _mad_? The one time he actually has a right to be?_

"Were you there Hermione?" Lavender questions me suddenly, popping the thought bubble.

"Huh?"

"At the fight, duh!" Lavender replies, batting her eyelashes obnoxiously quick and leaving her mouth open.

"No, I wanted to eat actually," I smile sweetly.

I hate to be bitchy, but I wish she would move her conversation elsewhere so I can stop thinking about the antics of Malfoy and focus on my stupid work.

"Oh. Well, you're no help." Lavender tuts, turning away.

I don't think she's ever quite 'forgiven' me after seeing Ron coming down the stairs with me when Harry was under the Invisibility Cloak. But seeing that she's been 'dumped' by Ron as well, I won't hold it against her, I do kind of feel bad, given how smug and satisfied I was when she was so upset.

"Hermione!"

Speak of the devil.

Ron is bounding from the entrance hole, waving somewhat awkwardly. I find myself smiling at him as he travels to sit down beside me on the couch; Lavender now glaring at the 2 of us.

"Are you ready for your audition then?" he asks.

"Oh god, I don't know. I never feel prepared enough," I admit, hands shaking with my open copy of Vivaldi's The Spring; Movement I

"You'll do brilliantly, I know you will, you always do," Ron exclaims, rubbing my arm soothingly.  
I love that he cares enough to ask me about it, yet my mind still lingers to the conversation that happened a week ago…

Ron must sense what I'm thinking even if I'm gazing down at the pages of the book, for he says;  
"Hermione, about what Harry and I said…about you not coming off as artistic, you know that we didn't mean it like that right? And that we do think you'll do well…we aren't just saying it"

I chuckle, an apology is all I need from him to make me melt. "I know Ron; it's just more difficult to take your words seriously because you haven't even heard me play yet."

"Well you'll be amazing, I'm sure. What're you playing again? Viveethoven or something?" he asks, snatching my composition.

"No, Ron –Viv-aldi. He was one of the first composers to incorporate textures that resembled real life sounds into his music; very famous."

"Oh, oh yeah…right." He opens up the book, wideneing his eyes at all the foreign notes, sharps, flats etc, and hands it back to me sheepishly.

"Looks complicated…but then, that's what you were going for, isn't it?" I grin, knowing he's trying to make it sound like a compliment.

"Yes, I am."

"I'll have you know," Lavender suddenly hisses form behind the couch, "That Parvati and I are both auditioning too. And both of us are going to do well!" She adds rather nastily at me.  
"You'll love my singing voice Ron" she finishes sweetly, "So good luck!"

And then the two harrumph - though Parvati gives me a quick 'sorry got that' glance before she exits out of the common room. Closing the Fat Lady rather sharply behind her.

"What was that all about?" Ron asks me stupidly.

"You can be so daft Ron. Obviously she still likes you, she's going to try and win you over with her song," I giggle.

"Lavender singing….." he shudders. "I dunno if I want to go anymore…."  
I throw the my at him.

'I was joking, _joking! _All right'" He yells, rubbing his head and laughing.

I smile checking the clock on the wall. Damn, _so _soon! Realizing what time it is, I get up.  
'Okay Ron, auditions start in 45 minutes, I need to go get ready, meet me inside the Great Hall in half an hour? I'll be waiting directly on the inside. Is Harry coming too, wherever he is?"

He nods. "Yeah, sure. He's at a Quidditch meeting with all the Captains and Madam Hooch. They're trying to figure out if Slytherin will actually be a playable team this year or something stupid. He should be done soon, see you later!" I run up the stairs, giving him a curt nod before disappearing out of sight.

_I need to look presentable._

"Okay, what am I going to wear?" I rifle through my drawers, trying to find something suitable. "Oh, and my hair! It's an absolute mess…should I wear make-up?" I wonder, examining my face in the vanity mirror. I rarely wear any of it, but a girls hould always be prepared. I have a some available in case special occasions arise. I must make the best impressions I can; this is the first time in a while I'll have all eyes on me. Oh god!

I scramble around the room, scouring through my suitcase through my possessions, glancing at my violin every few seconds just in case it gets enchanted and walks off. My stomach is bubbled with butterflies; only 40 minutes!

It's time.

* * *

I inhale a big breath standing atop the last set of stairs in the Entrance Hall. Clutching my now shrunken piano, my composition book and form hand, I walk down the steps towards the giant Great Hall doors, where a crowd of people stand talking loudly. I reach the throng, pushing past little triads and quartets of people, who begin to whisper again about him. And now I feel horrifically alone.

As I amble in the hall, I notice all the tables are gone, as are the ones for the professors on the raised platform. Replacing them are about 200 seats facing the 'stage', the Headmistress's huge chair set off to the side.

I'm not exactly sure where to go, but I catch a glimpse of Granger standing by her lonesome to the left, dressed in a dark purple dress that is quite tight-fitting for her, hair up in a loose bun. She's wearing light make-up around her eyes, they stand out more than normal.

I'm not sure why I notice these specific things. It must be because is the only other person like me, waiting all by herself like that. Since when did she ever make an effort to look decent?

She stares at me, apprehensive as she realizes I've stopped walking and probably look like I'm leering at her.

Suddenly I feel someone pushing past, knocking my shoulder forwards rather roughly. Twisting my head back in time I get to witness Weasley and Potter sidling up to Granger, Potter narrowing his eyes at me.

"H-Hermione –you look great!" Weasel practically drools, all googly, trying not to stare at her chest. Pitiful.

"Oh, thanks Ron…" she replies, still glancing at me.

"What are you looking at Malfoy?" Potter lashes, getting all up in my face.

I shake my head, getting back into focus of what I'm doing. "Nothing, Potter." I snap.

Sneering at him for good measure, I tread once again to the front where McGonagall remains patiently, collecting application forms.

I've decided on Chopin's Étude Opus No. 4. Probably the hardest piano piece I've heard that could I actually am able to play decently, obviously it's my first choice. Just because I want to back out of the negative spotlight a bit doesn't mean I can't show off when it's warranted.

He wait in the small line that has gathered to hand McGonagall our form.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall addresses me as the Gryffindor girl in front of me goes to sit down.

"Professor," I murmur. We've never got on, McGonagall and I; for some reason she always makes me feel ashamed every time she speaks to me.

I hand her the piece, watching her face as she scans it.

"Chopin, Mr. Malfoy?" she inquires, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." I reply a bit tersely.  
I can fucking play it, why do people feel the need to constantly underestimate me?

"Good luck," she wishes me deadpan, giving a tight grin that's neither menacing nor approving.

"Yeah….thanks…" I spit quietly as I walk to the front.

Does she honestly think I'm not up to snuff? Ugh.  
I thought music was the aristocrats muse?

The truth is that my piece is rather difficult, and have I memorized all of it yet? No. Maybe that's imperative if I want to do well….but I'll be much better than most of these chumps. I gotta tuck this insecurity in the back of my mind.

I nab a seat in the second to the front row,to my dismay, Graham finds his way over to me with a Slytherin friend unfamiliar to me, as well as a Ravenclaw girl who I believe is Orla Quirke.

"So whatcha playing Malfoy?" the unknown friend asks.  
The nerve.

"And you would be?" I question, furrowing my brow.

"Heathcliff Smith, of course" The boy states like I give a shit. "I play guitar! And I've seen you practicing piano just last night, what piece are you playing?"

I sigh. What is it with people talking to me like they know who I am?  
It makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

"It's none of your business. You'll find out when I play." I reply harshly, strengthening my grip on the composition book.

"Jeez, I was just asking a question…"

"_It's okay, don't take it personally, he's always like that_…" Graham whispers.

"Is it true you have the Dark Mark?" Orla suddenly questions me, rather boldly.

Are you fucking _kidding me_?

"What is she doing here?"

"Oh, well….we're playing a piece together – you know inter-house unity and all that!" Graham says flustered, fake-cheerily. He leans over more to me and continues. "_To be honest, I have a class with her and I kind of, er, fancy her…I know, she's not a Slytherin, but she's so good-looking! When she told me she played violin and was auditioning I stupidly said 'let's play together', so I'm kind of stuck, you see?"_

"Well, while I'm so happy about your stupid decision, tell your little girlfriend to _shut the bloody hell up, _before I hex you into the ground."  
I tear away from Graham, what an idiot; he gulps and nods. I survey this mouth Orla girl; she _is_ rather pretty with long curly brunette hair and a sweet smile, but why pick an intrusive bitch?

Or maybe I'm just feeling invaded and bitter, but I certainly don't want any more public embarrassment.

"Ready for this, Drakes? " Nott's distinctive voice is behind me, breaking the slight tension that hangs in the air.

"Nott, you truly are an inch away from me punching you for calling me stupid names, you know that right?" I announce without turning around.

Nott swings into the seat next to me. He puts a hand on my right shoulder and leans over-top to look at Graham.

"Such a lovely guy this bloke, huh?" he chuckles. Graham smirks, I roll the eyes to the back of my skull. "And I'd like to see you try."

No comeback is had from me, I'm interrupted.

"Your attention, please!" McGonagall cries. She stands on the raised platform now, her wand raised to her throat.

"Seeing as it is now 4:06 PM, I believe it is time to start; take your seats please!" She raises her hand, giving a great flourish. The enormous Great Hall doors slam shut, causing multiple students to jump.

Murmurs from people scurrying to find seats carry through in all directions, noises from shuffled chair legs. There has to be at least 300 people in here, although I'm sure only half (maybe less) are here to audition.

I sit still, waiting for our Headmistress to say more, arms folded and legs sprawled in front of as I lean back.

A pair of bare shoulder blades and a messy bun appear in front of my eyes.  
Her back is kind of sexy.

_'What!_"  
Fuck, I said that aloud.

As several people turned to gawp at me, I'm quickly staring at my shirt, embarrassed.  
Why the hell does my brain pick these inopportune times to let my libido take the reigns.  
Maybe I need to get laid, if I was thinking about Granger that way.

"Settle down now. We will begin now with the first years, and follow in ascending year order. Any volunteers?"

The room is deadly silent as none of the nervous pupils raise their hands.

"All right then, I will pick a student to begin at random." She flicks her wand at a small pile of forms, and swished it back quickly. A piece of paper floats to her hands.

"Ah yes, the first performer will be: Barnaby Mullins!"  
A rather fat little boy with a clarinet squeaks in anxiety, and wobbles up onto the stage.

"What are you playing my dear? Deprehensio," she adds casually as he jumps. A wave of blue light cascades around the boy's entire body, then turning a pleasant white and vanishes into the air.

"I will be using a detection spell on all of you. If you have altered your skill abilities in some way; I shall know. The light turns red before it fades if you've been tampering," she addresses everyone. And then to the kid, "Mr. Mullins, if you will."

She sits down in her chair to the left of the stage, muttering an incantation. An upholstered chair with a floral pattern pop out of nowhere, as well as a simple music stand, right in the middle of the stage.

Barnaby swallows hard and eases onto the chair, clutching his uncased clarinet and fumbles to put his pages on the rack.

"And you are playing today, so everyone knows?"

"Uhm, er, a piece by Bach for solo clarinet."

"All right, you may begin now." She directs pleasantly.

Barnaby is a deer in the headlights (a rather portly one at that), and places his mouth on the reed.

A deep breath, a red hue on his face, he blows quickly.

"Eeeerrrrrrrrriiiieeeeeeeaaaa a!"

The sound that emits this disaster is horrible and screechy. I scrunch my face and put my hands casually on his ears, many others doing the same thank god.  
Good lord, I hope this is over soon.

The auditions for the younger years pass by in an abysmal drag – most of them not very good. Everyone claps politely (Yes, even the Slytherins) for each performer though; they do not need to face any more humiliation. Every so often there is a gem of good music-playing, but I still maintain that none of them do their original composer justice.  
In fact, this train wreck of events is very tiring, and I want to get on with this, I haven't had time to let anxiety set in. I think it's best if you pretend you know you'll be amazing.

Suddenly a thump, and a gasp: A particularly bad Hufflepuff 3rd year faints halfway through playing the piano she is so panicky. Needless to say she has done terribly.

"I'll bet poor old Stravinsky is rolling around in his grave after that pathetic disaster," I whisper rather loudly, after the girl has been revived and exits through the back red-faced.

Nott chokes out a laugh, trying to contain himself, and to my pleasure, a few other snickers resonate from around me.

Granger however, decides to shoot around and give a dirty look. But I'm ready; I stare her down, and lift an eyebrow, challenging her to say something.

She narrows her eyes at me, not having the nerve and turns around. Weasley grabs her upper arm trying to settle her down. Before the next audition he says, quite eloquently: "Shove off Malfoy."

"Pathetic," is all I reply. A growl, no more responses however.  
Potter and Weaselette are ignoring me, no doubt trying to avoid a ruckus.

I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed. I'm so bored.  
After another excruciating half hour, it's the 5th years turns.

"Any volunteers? Anyone?" McGonagall asks wearily, clearly sick of having to pick people at random.

"We'll go!"

Everyone turns to see who yelled it; Orla. Graham is frightened, the magnitude of what is about to happen sinking in. That's what he gets for picking big mouthed ladies to be his companions.

"Come on, Graham!" Orla urges, grabbing his hand. The touching of fingers seem to do the trick, hormones raging. and Graham intakes a deep breath.

"A duet?" McGonagall confirms.

Graham nods as they step up onto the platform. "Pachebeezle's canon," he strangles out hoarsely.

I laugh quite loudly, along with several people; one of which is Granger. As soon as I hear each other sharing the joke, I force myself to stop hastily. Potter decides to face me now, with an expression I couldn't read if I tried, and whips around once again, my face pink.

"I m-mean, um – "

"Pachel-bel's canon," Orla corrects, now looking regretful that she's picked Graham as her partner.

I didn't only chuckle because Graham messed up Pachelbel's name, it's also because I don't know what Graham is even worrying about. All he has to play is the basso continuo section – the continuous bass-line. Orla has the much harder task of playing the entire melody herself.

McGonagall summons a second chair and motions for the pair to begin. Nervously, the two sit down, counted in Graham to start that familiar intro.

As the meat of the song comes in, where the music gets far more interesting, I can assess that they actually are doing a decent job. Graham hasn't fucked up once, Orla has a few slips ups, but they were minor.

When they finish everyone claps; they looked quite pleased with themselves. Orla hugs Graham right then and there, and I feel the need to vomit. How lame. He's blushing during the obligatory bow and return to us fellow Slytherins.

Nobody wants to go after those two so, again, McGonagall must play roulette with pieces of parchment.

Although the first 4 years of students auditions seemed to drag on, the fifth and sixth years pace speed up rapidly. My nerves prick at my skin, surfacing to mingle with fear, bubbling in my chest.

_What if I mess up? What if I am really terrible? What if I end up fainting like that silly girl? What if nobody claps!_

My palms now shake violently as Ginny Weasley, the last audition in Year 6, finishes up her cello concerto by Elgar.

Potter is wild and Weasel yells 'Yay Ginny!' at his sister. She's very pleased with herself that she has done well. When she gets down, she jumps very nauseatingly on Potter's lap, granting him a big kiss, and he deepens it by grabbing onto her back and waist.

"That turned you on, eh Potter?" I try maliciously to get my mind off of worry. I can't damn well help it, pot stirring is what I do best. And I love it. "_Bet you'd like to see what else she can do with those hands, huh?"_

"OI!" Balled fists, and heavy heads and Weasel bores his ugly face at me, taking me aback just a bit.

I unfurl arms and legs in apprehension. I'm not ready for a fight, I just wanted to quell my worries. Pass some insults for old times sake. Before he can do anything however, his freckly sister mutters, "Ron, it's not worth it. _Really_."  
She emphasizes that last word, staring coldly at me. Potter dons the exact same expressing, although it is 100X dirtier.

Guess he does want to know what she can do with those didn't deny it.

Weasley sits down, fists still curled. 'You're disgusting," is my reward, swishing her rather long red hair dramatically over her shoulder as she spins around to face the front.

Lame.

"Are you done then, you 5?" McGonagall bites, and the four of them and me sheepishly nod at the questioning headmistress whose hands rest on her hips.

We're pretty weak, aren't we?  
One question and we're silenced like good little students.,

"Good. Seventh years, it's your turn."

A buzz runs along the Hall; apparently this is the most exciting year to watch having the most participants and auditions.

"Should I even ask?" The hushed room gives her her answer and she flicks her wand lazily; a form flies into her hands.

"The first performer for the seventh years is: Seamus Finnigan!" Everyone scans the room for this idiot, who gets up defiantly.

Before he decided to use me for sparring practice, this git has always rubbed me the wrong way. He is rather good at the fiddle, from what I gather, but no, I refuse to believe that such a dumbass could be talented at anything. And the fiddle? _Really_? How stereotypical could you get?

"I'll be playin' a Celtic piece from the 1800's. Don't know what it's called but me Dad gave it to me, he's a Muggle you see," Seamus states, taking a stand rather than sitting. _How brave._

Without waiting for a signal, the detection charm cast over him, he attacks his fiddle with the bow, glaring intently at the composition. Several people's mouths drop; he is excellent.  
Dammit.

I hate the way he over exaggerates his movements, sweating and grunting for no damn reason really. Showmanship and showboating really pisses me off, and _yes, _I know I'm a massive hypocrite, and _no, _I am not jealous.

After about 3 minutes of straight playing, Finnegan hits his cadence note, flushed from over-exertion. The audience has gone completely still, bursting into screams and applause as he finishes, giving a little grin at his response.

The seventh years a little less enthusiastic than the others; this is what the competition is like?

Nott is halfway down the row, shifting his way past knees into the aisle.

"What are you doing?" Graham asks.

"Hell, if this is what the people are going to sound like, I might as well just go now!" he grins, twiddling his drumsticks in his hands. A few people note our conversation and mutter in agreement.

"Professor! It would be my honour to perform next," Nott shouts ridiculously.

McGonagall is in partial disbelief, she pauses: "Well…alright Nott, come up here" she gestures quickly.

Nott jumps onto the stage and flourishes his wand – out of the tip appears a green drum set; rather expensive. Several girls quip excitedly when he gets on the stool, the 'saviour' was about to play!  
Kill me now.

"And tell us what piece you are going to play, Nott."

"Er…an overture." He replies thinking. "Billius Tell….oh wait no, my ad, an improv of William Tell. Is it okay if I bewitched this horn to play the melody?" he adds, taking a tiny horn out of his back pocket.

"Yes. Dephresnsio." The light glowed white. "Reprehendo Instrumentalis,"she points at the trumpet, which emits no sound, showing that it wasn't going to play Nott's piece as well.

Wizards can be very tricky.

McGonagall regards Nott, who coughs, "Ahem. Lascivio"

The trumpet blasts deviously loud and plays the epic charging start. Nott prepares to play, sticks lilting and spinning in his palms. Coming in as the music reaches a pause before the melody, his cue has came. He bashes the drums, his hands moving a mile a minute.

I cannot tell if he's good or not, honestly. The improv aspect makes it difficult to assess whether or not he is intending to be offbeat when he is, the same when it sounds too strange to be proper.

Deceptive little bastard! I'm shaking my head so he can see it, but a smirk cannot be avoided. If only I'd thought of that.

Nott ends with a ridiculous flourish, but nobody else seems to notice and applauds heartedly, though not as loud as Seamus.

"Thank you for…whatever that was, Nott." McGonagall states. Nott bows, waving an outstretched hand in circles and crossing a leg behind the other as he bends over.  
Silly git.

"Who's next?"

The auditions are progressing at a rapid pace; some going very well; others not so much. Overall, everyone is quite talented, unfortuantely. Compared to the other years, anyway.

Cho Chang is giving me a run for my money by playing Chopin's Nocturne on the piano; her long fingers make it easier to play, the same advantage I was blessed with. The only problem I can see with her is that she is so damn shy, doesn't project the image of confidence which is so important as a musician.

Another piano player is Parvati. She's doing a duet with Lavender Brown who has decided to –ugh – _sing_. They're playing Brahm's Lullaby, not a very familiar tune to me; but I'm glad about that fact. There's no chance for it to be ruined for me. If I felt empathy, my heart would've gone out to Parvati, she really isn't that bad. Lavender is just garbage. It's not even that she can't sing, it's that she is so dramatic (and slightly nasal) that she looks like a total idiot. Not that she didn't already.

Lavender has ended up off of the stage and is stood right in front of Weasley, finishing the last of her notes, staring 'seductively' into his eyes. I can see Weasel's ears turn red form behind him, his back tense. I try to snicker quietly, but I'm unable to contain this amusement. The room becomes incredibly awkward after this; everyone gave the obligatory clap, and Parvati is giginvg off the edhe that she'd like nothing more than to stab her best friend.

Next up is Susan Bones; a Hufflepuff. Yawn. She's decided on a Brahms's piece as well, a violin concerto. Hmm, she is actually quite good. I notice everyone else's surprise, perhaps because she ain't all that popular. No slip ups, earning herself a nice round of applause.

As she gets back down in her place, I overhear Granger whisper to her dimwit companions, frightened.

"Oh Merlin, I'm so nervous. Susan was so good! Better than me, surely. I really hope I'm not –"

"Next is – Hermione Granger!"

She lets out a shrill whimper; she's panicking, her arms shaking. I have never seen her in such a vulnerable state. Well that isn't true….but I like to keep most memories from last year out of my head. It's just that she's usually so self-assured when it comes to school. I want to say I relish in the fact that she's struggling for once, but for some reason it doesn't merit him as much pleasure as a thing like this normally would….

"You'll be fine Hermione, go on, McGonagall's waiting!" Potter urges his bushy haired freak.

I have no surety in what to expect from this Mudblood girl. I've had some damn strange occurrences with her this past month, and I'm afraid to find out. Because I keep paying attention to her and fucked if I want to get caught up in more shit than I can handle.


	7. Violins & Pianos

**_Strange attraction spreads its wings,  
_****_It varies but the smallest things.  
_****_You never know how anything will change.  
_****_Strange attraction spreads its wings,  
_****_And alters but the smallest things.  
_****_You never know how anything will fade._****_  
_**

- **_Strange Attraction,_ The Cure.**

* * *

I gulp shaking my way onto the stage. I daren't to look at all the expectant faces; watching to see if I'll fail or succeed.

The thing with being a smart student is that you create pressure-some expectations for yourself. I know sometimes I appear like a show-off but I'm really just a perfectionist who's eager to do well; assert my knowledge. I've been contemplating if people doubt me as a violinist the same way Harry and Ron did – do they really think I can only read books?

Now is _not_ the time for all these things to be swirling in my head and yet here they are, taunting me. After McGonagall has performed the detection charm and I'm sat in the seat, I begin to feel sick. _Look at all those people…_

Snap out of it, I shake my head clear. Positioning the violin to my neck, raising the bow. I'm about to play but hear McGonagall cough.

"The piece, Miss Granger?"

God, I mentally slap myself.  
"Oh yes," my voice is extremely high. I clear my throat as a few people chuckle in the audience at my changed octave.

"Vivaldi's _The Spring_,in C Major" I announce, trying to sound more poised than I feel.

_How do performers do this every night? This is absolutely nerve-wracking!_

Before I begin the piece – mind you, _without_ any composition – I've noticed someone staring at me more intently than everyone else, save Harry and Ron who give her thumbs up. It's a platinum blonde ferret, who has his eyes fixed on me; Draco Malfoy.

_Why is he looking at me?_ _Why is his stare giving me somersaults in my stomach?_

My anxiety turns to anger immediately.

_He's trying to psych me out! He is just _waiting _for me to mess about so he can be satisfied that the girl who always beats him in exams will finally flop._

Something inside of me snaps. He will not affect me. I put on a determined face and furrow my brow at Malfoy, furiously tackling this piece.

_The Spring_ starts out very slow, and then builds up momentum into a glorious crescendo of sound. It's like I've forgoten where I am and every single detail around me; the only focus is the music I've practised and listened to obsessively for the past week.

I haven't missed a note yet, and hope that I successfully imitated all the nature sounds that were incorporated in the piece; lightning, rain, thunder. It rivals the emotions I'm feeling right now. I wanted Malfoy's face to contort into a grimace, I want so badly for him to envy me, to sit in a pool of his displeasure.

It's the end of the movement and I've realized my eyes have been shut the entire time. The hair I tried to tame has fallen out of the bun I'd made and curled behind my neck.

But it doesn't matter because I hit the cadence, the final resounding note, blinking my eyes open. I can feel my cheeks flush staring out into the audience, embarrassed by how wild I've gotten. But they look in shock…and _awe_.

After a moment, claps and cheers and whistles of approval howl from all around me. Happily, I bounce off my seat, give a bow, and can't stop grinning. McGonagall is beaming at me; really, beaming!

"Thank you for that wonderful performance, Miss Granger," McGonagall says, while she prepared to pick the next performer.

In this triumphant demeanour I find myself ravenously gazing over at my mocker to see what his feedback to the performance was. _Nothing_ could have prepared me for what's there.

Though his hands remain crossed and unclapping, Draco Malfoy is smiling: _smiling._ Not just the usual smirk, but a full-on toothy grin.

He's shaking his head with a little chuckle. Then he looks up at me and nods as if to say, _Well done._

_Well done? ! _This is very troubling indeed.

* * *

_What an impressive performance,_ I think incredulously. She had the loudest reaction yet, and everyone is heartily unwilling to go next.

Granger looked down at me with something to prove before she started playing, that's for sure. Apparently she thought I was trying to muddle her up with my gaze, but really I was just curious to see if this Mudblood girl would be able to handle such a difficult piece. And _boy_ could she handle it.

Maybe because she lives in the Muggle world it would be easier for her to be accomplished in music playing; _Yes that's it._

I mean, look at Dean & Seamus; both have Muggle lineage and therefore resources. They were the best after Granger in the whole bunch.

I knew that when she glared at me she wanted a reaction, silly lamb. But I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing myself unnerved that she did so well; I hadn't truly expected anything bad. I've grudgingly decided long ago that I cannot beat her in most subjects; why should music be any different?

But damn, have to hand it to her, never would've had any idea she would've been so….well, so _bloody_ fantastic.

"What's wrong with you?" I heard Nott from beside me.

I turn to survey my idiotic questioner, "What?"

"Oh my god! Are you _smiling?_ I don't think I've ever seen you smile in my whole life." Nott's jaw drops slightly (dramatically) and he nudges Graham beside him. "_Malfoy's smiling! SMILING."_

Graham unfocuses his gaze from Orla who he'd been goggling at since his performance and looks over at me.

"He is!"

"What? I am _not!"_

I feel my composure slip as I say this though….my face is contorted unfamiliarly now I stop to think about it.

I put a hand self-consciously to my lips and cheeks. Oh, fucking Merlin.

Immediately I force the smile into a line, cannot have people see me physically happy in response to…_her._

Anyone else better not have noticed, but almost everyone else is gazing at Granger who's sat back down in front of me, great.

"You were _amazing_ Hermione!" Ginny tells her, grabbing a hold of her hand.

"Yeah, really brilliant," Potter adds, smiling at his friend.

"There was no need for you to be worried, you did so much better than Susan," Weasley continues praising her, his eyes looking at her with unconcealed awe.

It's rather sickening, to tell the truth. The way Weasel is observing her…like he's in love with her or something.

_Is_ he?...Or more importantly, is _she_?

Why do I care?

"_What was that all about? Your smile…"_

If Nott's mouth came any closer to my ears, I think I'd probably set one off on him.

"_Granger was staring at me, like I was doing something terrible to her by gracing the presence of this vicinity. So I smiled at her to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible_." I lie, trying to keep quiet as I lean to Nott, not wanting to face him.

"_Yeah, suureee. You have the hots for _Granger_? I thought you were the leader of the Anti-Mudblood campaign_," Nott says almost viciously.

"I _do not_ have 'the hots' for her!" I hiss. Apparently too loud, Granger herself has turned around to stare at me quizzically, like she's heard her name.

But I can't be bothered with this garbage, so I sneer at her, angry at the accusation. Offended, she turns round and crosses her arms, huffing loudly. Weasley swings his head after he noticed her frustration and scrunches his features, outwardly trying to look scary, but failing miserably, my opinion. He's put an arm around her now, whipping back.

All of this has been going on while Hannah Abott performs her saxophone piece, which just ended. She earns an applause, but it seems nothing but a mere twitter compared to Granger's audition. Hannah glares daggers at Madam Mudblood as she walks past, and in response Granger, too nice, gives an apologetic face.

"Now, who's next?...Noone? Pity," McGonagall announces drily, flicking another form into her hands.

She scans the paper and ever so slightly her face droops. "Neville Longbottom. It's your turn."

A small murmur runs through the room; _Neville?_  
True he has earned some 'street cred' last year when he stood up for Potter in front of the Dark Lord himself, but not a lot of people were present. And honestly, Longbottom doesn't have a reputation of being a very talented student other than in Herbology.

He stands up shaking, making his way down the aisle to the front. He halts stupidly for a moment, staring up at the intimidating chair and stand before stepping up onto the raised platform.

"Now," McGonagall starts, making the lout jump awkwardly. "Is anyone familiar with the Muggle story _Erlking?"_ she addressed to everyone.

This sounds achingly familiar; I can't put my finger on it.

"Yeah, I am!" A little Ravenclaw girl pips up. Everyone finds her as she speaks eagerly, proud of the knowledge only she has. "It's a Swedish, I think, folktale. It was a story that was supposed to warn children and scare them to not defy their parents' wishes by giving in to sin."

"Yes, wonderful, 10 points to Ravenclaw," McGonagall notes. "I suppose this is a longshot if nobody knew the tale but, is anyone familiar with Schubert's _piece_ about the Erlking, entitled _Erlkonig_?"

Recognition fils me. I suddenly vividly recall finding that composition in the practice room yesterday, and trying it on for size. It was difficult but not nearly as hard as the Chopin piece.

A few people raise their hands, including Cho Chang. It's only played by a piano.

I reluctantly push my own arm upwards, causing a couple people to murmur about me knowing about a Muggle piece. Fuck them, I raise it more defiantly as Ernie Macmillan obnoxiously announces aloud his opinion.  
"Draco _Malfoy?_ I'm sure _I_ could pay it far better than he ever could, the poor Muggle-ignorant boy. I, at least, took Muggle Studies."

"And out of you, oh, 7 or so people; have any of you actually played the piece, and remember it decently from memory?"

I keep the hand up, nobody else has.  
Wait….why exactly would she interrupt Longbottom for _this? _

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy?" As soon as McGonagall says it, you can hear the shuffling and attention of the room focused on me and my raised arm. Bollocks. I lower it, flicking my eyes back and forth between the surveyors, crossing it uncomfortably.

"You can play this can you?' our headmaster questions.

"Well….might I ask _why? _Professor." I add hastily. I am so very aware of the intent gazes all around me; whatever this is leading to, it can't be good.

"To put it simply, Longbottom has decided that he'd like to sing this piece."

Guffaws of laughter fill the room, none of which come from me. Of course the aim reveals itself, know exactly what McGonagall wants, and I certainly don't know my reply.

"Settle down, show some manners," McGonagall says harshly, shutting the whole lot up immediately. "I would like you, Malfoy, to accompany him on the piano."

"NO! I don't want his help!" Neville shouts immediately in protest, which causes everyone to discuss this new found anger in the usually amusing student. He's got his fists balled, defiant standing up there on the stage. "Why does _he _need to help me?"

"Because," McGonagall responds calmly, ignoring his outburst. "It is very difficult to do well when singing if you have no cues on when to finish or start my dear boy. It is also imperative that I can measure how well you sing against musical accompaniment. It would greatly help you, do not be so rude."

"S-sorry," Neville apologizes, looking her rather than me, though I don't blame the clod.

"What say you, Malfoy?" That sounds like a challenge.

Hmm, what to do.

My gut feeling is clearly telling me 'Hell no!", but at the same time everyone expects me to say no; I'd clearly rather dip my head in a bucket of Stinksap than help a Gryffindor.

Also, saving my talents for when I must do the audition is wise. I don't know the piece that well, and to impose a bad imprint in McGonagall's mind would be bad for business.

And then again, like with Granger, giving old Neville the satisfaction of being proven right would kill me. And considering Lonbottom reacted so violently to the suggestion of me helping him, I wouldn't mind making the bugger squirm.

Staring Neville directly in the eyes and giving him a defiant smirk I answer:  
"Sure, I'll help Longbottom."

A gasp rocks the room, how melodramatic.

Potter, Weasley and Granger have all been observing me up to that point. They all drop their jaws, as does Nott, raising his eyebrows as well.

This might be fun. I get up more confidently than I feel leaving my composition on the seat. Checking my pocket for my wand, I grab my lovely piano at my feet and stride onstage. Wincing at the pain in my ribs when I step up, damn you Gryffindors!

I can't let it show, is this some sick form of payback? Who knows. I give Longbottom a wink as I pass him, setting my instrument down.

"_Engorgio_," I incant, my piano growing to its rightful size. A few people gasp again, this time of awe.

McGonagall eyes it appraisingly, though she tries not to let it show, approving of it. It really is a beautiful thing.

"Alright, let's get on with this, Longbottom." He's still standing in a daze, as I'm grabbing the flowery chair and dragging it to the piano, cursing it for being too high.

Good thing it's cushionay though, I gotta get down extra carefully so not to hurt my body again, and cracked my knuckles, making Longbottom cringe as he hesitantly stands beside me.

Odd gurgling noises like he's clearing his throat sound from him. He's contemplating me reproachfully, I'm only sitting at the ready. God, no respect here.

"State the piece again, Mr. Longbottom."

"Uh, yeah. Schubert's _Erlkonig."_Heputs his sheets of music onto the stand.

"What key?"

"Er-what?" _Imbecile._

"The key. You know, what key are you singing in?" I repeat, rolling my eyes.

"Oh yeah…E m-minor."

"Okay," I say, preparing mentally, the melody rolling over in my mind. "Ready?"

I want to be done with it ASAP.

He waivers for a moment.  
"Yes." He announces this to everyone, eyes pleading with me, begging for me not to mess him up.

'Alright,"  
Obviously, I'm not going to sabotage the gawky freaks. We're in front of a crowd and McGonagall, seriously. I mean, once or twice I have lost control, but that was years ago, how daft can you be?

"1, 2, 3 -" I count us in and start the very dissonant sounding piece.

Even if I wanted to fuck him up, I must concentrate very hard to remember it; only played it a few times last night. As I get up the point where Longbottom is to begin singing, I glance in his direction. To find him rigid, frozen.

No avail, he's missed it, I stop playing.  
He glares quizzically and crossly; I simply shoot up my brows innocently.

'What was that for!" He demands, and I hear McGonagall sigh.

"You were supposed to start singing," I state sweetly like I'm conversing with a 4 year old.

"Oh…."  
Blushing bright red like a shy little cherub, I do not dignify any more responses.

"Let's try this again," I murmur under his breath, retrying the song.

This time he's ready; he begins to sing.  
(Well, if you could call it that.)

"_Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?_  
_Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind!'_

He can hit all the notes perfectly fine; the problem is that his German is absolutely atrocious, sounds as if it's some made up language he's speaking.

_He looks like a frog….._ Chest bulging in and out, convulsing from the strain of his vocal chords, tongue waggling.

A small smile forms on my face, I'm trying with great difficult to keep in the laughter; what an odd situation I've landed in.

Like others in the audience, I'm letting out little snorts, trying to keep a straight face.

_Stop it, stop laughing._ Concentrate.

_Think of…Pansy. Yes, in nice lingerie. Pound the notes like you'd like to pound her_.

However, when I picture Pansy's face no desire comes at all for her. She, after all, has left me alone here with no contact whatsoever in the past few months. I never loved her of course (lust, perhaps), but she had always been by my side, liked to kiss me sometimes, sometimes even more - and that was nice.

To my dismay, I find myself picturing _Granger_ in my head. Wearing green and silver lacy things that were not nearly as innocent as she let on to be…

I spot her in the sea of faces – she's staring at me. I notice her nice eyes all the way from up on the stage. And I hate to admit, but they're unlike any I've ever seen before. I've never seen a shade of dark brown eyes with so much immediate depth, gold flecks dotting her irises. This inkling realization makes my face burn from mortification mixed with unwanted desire.

Suddenly, I hit a bad note, and come back to reality of the situation I'm in. I jerk my vision back to the keys, glad nobody has noticed the slip up.

Was Nott right? Do I, _Draco Malfoy,_ truly and honestly the _hots_ for Granger?

_Fuckkkk._

* * *

He _is_ rather good, I decide reluctantly.

That may pose a problem in the future.

Malfoy has just stared at me, _while playing._  
He didn't even have sheet music! How did he do _that_?  
Oh, and not to mention he's helping _Neville._

It's a very strange thing indeed; I knew he wouldn't try anything with McGonagall there, besides, he'd get even more trouble from Gryffindors had he done, and he surely didn't want that…

Merlin though, his fingers move so eloquently, and so fast. Not sloppy at all, it's really, from a musician's standpoint, wonderful.

I'm glad nobody else has seen him watch me (for the second time today). While I've been caught up in Malfoy, they all were, including Harry and Ron, focusing on Neville. Who is doing badly.

My heart really goes out to him, he really wants to succeed, he always tries so hard. People have broken into fits of giggles and titters at his singing. If he only knew German! He'd probably be decent if he knew it…well, better than whatever _this_ was.

Just then, Neville has attempted an incredibly high note in the piece and his voice cracks. Ron let out a loud "HA!", covering his mouth immediately, laughing into his hand.

Harry's simply hidden his face away in his sleeve. Ginny, even, is grinning.  
I glare at them.

"_Awful you two!"_ I find myself scolding furiously. "_He's your friend, and this is the respect you give him?"_

Ron looks shamefaced. He whispers back, "_Sorry, can't help it sometimes you know, I mean…just listen to him!"_ and his composure waivers once more.

I huff and cross my arms, focusing again on the stage. It had to be nearing the end soon, poor Neville; it's painful to watch this.

Unwillingly my gaze is shifting to Malfoy once again. Surprisingly, he's not laughing– or even smirking. He's stone faced attending to his task.

_That's really nice of him, not to be poking fun of Neville like that, _pops into my head.  
_  
Are you kidding? This is Malfoy, he just doesn't want to get in trouble,_ another voice protests.

_Maybe, but he could probably get away with giggling couldn't he? And he's not sabotaging him…he could've not agreed to play at all!_

_Think he's changed, do you? _The negative voice presses on in these thoughts.

_Well, he obviously has. Anytime where he's not insulting me and others is an improvement, isn't it?_

_True, but you're defending him in your head, what's gotten into you? Feeling sorry for the brat after you've seen him all sad and broken down?_

"Hermione?"

Ron has gently pushed me, a worried expression on his face. I've been staring straight ahead with a glazed look for a few minutes.

"Sorry, I was just…thinking."

"Oh….right." And out of the corner of her eye Ron is giving Harry the look. The 'what-was-that-all-about?' gaze that's usually reserved when I do something out of the ordinary. Harry shrugs.

Hadn't even realized the piece had ended, McGonagall is thanking him for his 'efforts', and people are clapping and hooting wildly – which is totally disrespectful in my opinion. They enjoyed the performance, but not because Neville did well. He's standing with his face to the floor, while Malfoy is stood awkwardly to the side.

'Quiet down now. _Quiet" _McGonagall barks, as someone speaks pretty noisily "What a masterpiece!", causing many to chuckle again.

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, you may go." Neville nods. Instead of reverting to his seat, however, he bounds off to the back of the platform, clearly upset.

Oh, _poor _dear.

Gryffindors surrounding me start to mumble.  
"_Poor Neville!"  
"Oh, why did we laugh? Poor dear."  
"Well he was bloody terrible…"  
"I know, but – well, we'll just apologize later..."_

'Mr Malfoy," McGonagall speaks, grasping my attention once again.  
"Thank you for aiding Neville. Would you like to go now?"  
She tried the words somewhat kindly, but annoyance is etched on her at what had just happened.

"Er…I guess so."

"Very well. Just give me a moment, while I go and speak to Longbottom ."

She was talking directly to Malfoy, but every word is carried to me being in the front row.

"All of you!" she booms, suddenly. "Stay seated, I will be back in a few moments. You should all be ashamed of yourselves." She ads as she hurries out of the Hall, following Neville's trail off the platform that probably leads to wherever Harry had to go for the Triwizard Tournament.

As the room buzzes began once again, I watch Malfoy walk back to his seat behind me. I dared not to turn around and watch him, but listen intently to his conversation.

That strange boy Theodore Nott is saying to him, "Good job Drakes! You were pretty decent, unlike Longbottom on the other hand, who was, ha, hahaha!" Unable to finish through his laughter.

Anger surges through me. _How dare he_?

"He sounded like a walrus gargling a voice alteration potion, ha ha ha! I mean it was the absolute worst-"

"I would appreciate it, if you _stopped_ making fun of my friend!"  
I don't understand why I'm so temperamental today, I irately spin around and splutter at the offender who is now giggling uncontrollably.

Malfoy is still standing, his eyes wide at the confrontation. Theodore rearranges to a surprised look, a smile still on his face.

"_Ooh_, feisty. So Malfoy, you like the fiery type, huh?" He's nodding his head towards me.

'The what?" I ask confused.

"Nothing," Malfoy snaps. "Who cares if he made fun of 'your friend' Granger? It's his opinion."

"Well I don't' much appreciate people poking fun of people who do their best!" I find myself retorting bitterly.

Malfoy merely rolls his eyes, proceeds to look under his seat for something.  
I feel incensed to say something more, but it won't prove anything.

"What're you looking for?" Theodore questions.

"My composition….it was right here!" he shouts irritably, panicked.

I turn around again, finished with watching their antics, and shake my head. Stupid boys…

"What was that all about?" Harry enquires.  
"Oh, never you mind." I tut. He raises his hands up halfway in the air in the, and then lowers them, not wanting to test me.  
I make a mental note to apologize later.

Behind me, though I'm trying desperately to ignore him, I can't help but overhear Malfoy getting increasingly annoyed.

"What the fuck? Where did it go? Did someone take it?" He is most definitely freaking.

Unfortunately for him, McGonagall has just returned, Neville _not_ in tow.

She is now a little aggravated no doubt, expectant. 'Mr Malfoy? If you will."

A very audible 'Fuck!" is muttered under his breath, but he stomps over to the stage.

He gets up slowly onto the stand, clutching his ribs. Flinging himself onto his seat.

How is he going to pull this off, I wonder?  
Even though it's Malfoy, I feel a pang of sympathy for him, a dead man walking in the hands of our most strict teacher.

* * *

_God, I could use a stiff one right now._

Somebody has moved my composition, but why? Out of spite? Or maybe just plain idiocy?  
Isn't physical punishment enough?

In any case, some liquid courage, maybe some Firewhiskey or a nice Bourbon would suffice right about now. It was all that could keep me alive last year when the Dark Lord practically lived in my house….I shudder for a moment, and push back those memories. I have much more pressing matters.

What the _hell_ am I going to play?

"Now, your piece Mr Malfoy?"

"Er- ah"

I think fast and blurt the first thing that comes to my head.  
"Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

"P-pardon?" A few people titter at me. Oh, ha ha.

"I seemed to have misplaced my composition while I was up here helping Longbottom. So I can no longer play Chopin, can I?" I reply severely. "I'll play Mozart's variations of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

"I must admit I've never heard that piece," McGonagall admits.

"It is the same tune as Glisten, Glisten, Dragon's Eye. I guess I'll have to show you."

And so I begin once again, a piece I have not practices, have not planned to play today.

* * *

How on earth is Malfoy going to make Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star sound good? I mean, he said _variations_, so obviously he'll perform it more than once…but still.

The simple tune is underway, it sounds pleasant enough. There are students commenting on its simplicity behind me, laughing or jaunting at him. But Malfoy closes his eyes, once again with no composition, and finishes the song, no reaction.

He pauses a moment, a few people cough, but then he gives a haughty sneer before he repeats.

And this time, it's amazing. The tune much more complex, and beautiful.

And then, he finishes it again.

The fourth round of Twinkle, Twinkle and it's barely recognizable. It has completely transformed into something different; if you hadn't known Malfoy played the original a moment ago, you wouldn't be able to identify it.

The last round seems to combine every section he had played so far together in a wonderful, awesome, delicious song. How have I never heard this before?  
How long has he been studying piano?  
How well versed in classical music do you think he his?  
I'm watching his fingers; they glide effortlessly across the piano, he's so elegant changing from key to key.

_Why is he so good?_ Why does he _have_ to be so good?

He finishes with a little flourish and hits the last note.

Nobody moves, we're all too amazed to do anything; No one knows if they should clap, after all this is _Malfoy_ we're talking about.

McGonagall starts the applause, a polite pace, with pleased look on her face; he passed her test.

Malfoy sits there awkwardly, and finally behind me I can hear the Slytherin's clap. Though I might have to pay for these actions later, I can't preach to people about being rude and then not clap myself, so I join in.

Soon enough, everyone is applauding, and although it's not very heartily, it's respectful.

He grins, not smirks, for a small moment and then hobbles off stage. I watch his lithe frame as he makes his way back behind me, noticing a contentedness in his eyes, satisfaction in his demeanour.

I feel something stir in my chest when he smiles. And I don't know if I like it, don't know to feel about him anymore. But…one thing is for certain, he can really play.

And though I hate to admit this, he looks rather good. I'm not sure I understand why I've never noticed it before...


	8. Forbidden Fruit

**_In the Garden of Delight angels breathing bliss,  
_****_But the sweetest touch of all, is the serpent's kiss._****_  
_**

**_And she whispers in your ear, 'try my fruit of lust'._**  
**_I'm the queen of ecstasy, in God you cannot trust.  
Taste forbidden fruit, the sweetest sin of all: oh, so hard they come  
And so hard they fall._**

**- _Forbidden Fruit_, In Strict Confidence**

* * *

"Hermione, erm, I was meaning to ask you something – can we-"

"Yes, yes. In a moment!" I am not in the mood to talk or think about anything other than Music class. I need to know what placement I've received, it's an itch I can't scratch, hiccups I can't kick.

I really hope that I'm good enough to be in Advanced. Everyone has told me I was amazing but still. I'm not about to toot my own horn until I know the results. One can always do better.

I don't remember how well I did because I was so concentrated on hitting the right chord; I was in some sort of trance, barely even heard myself. I just felt note after note, piece after piece, not the flow and harmony of it as a whole. I definitely can't begin discussing intellect and skill until I know how I stand among others.

"Hermione, you'll be just fine- "

"Of course I'll be fine!" I snap at Ron, who's currently walking me to the tower. He whimpers slightly and closes his mouth. His incessant whining is giving me a bit of a headache. It's not his fault i'm so high strung, but he should surely know by now i'm always like this.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I say relenting, grabbing hold of his arm gently. "I'm just nervous. You know me," I stop, giving him a weak smile.

"I do..I really do…" he says with wide happy eyes and a jubilant smile, sliding his hand down my arm to grasp my fingers. His expression doesn't falter when I begin looking at him oddly.

"Er, Ron, what was it you wanted to say?"

* * *

"We'll get into the Advanced section. I just know we will!"

Nott has _not_ stopped repeating for the past week that he and I 'most definitely' qualify for the Advanced music section. He's convinced that all the Slytherins will.

I haven't searched for reassurance, yet Nott can't shut up about his 'confidence' in the matter.  
I would've done so much better if my stupid composition hadn't been lost. I later that night found out Graham's stupid friend had grabbed my piece wanting to know what I was going to play and ripped it in two - he was just too scared to tell me, the git. Stupid, insolent fourth years.

We're ambling up the staircase to our first Music Class, in which we will be given our ranking. (It would be far too embarrassing to post the results on a notice board).

"I mean we will, right? You were good, I was good and -"

"Nott, will you shut _up_?" I hiss at him. "You're just making it worse!"

He stops to look at me, drumming his fingers on his leg out of nervous habit.

Then raising his eyebrows he says almost reluctantly, "Malfoy, why are you even worried? You were probably the best one to play. _Yeesh."_

This comment surprises me. Nott being flattering? I've been ignoring him all week, his constant repetition of convincing everyone that they were all fantastic makes it feel like a curse or a jinx. Like _nobody_ will do well because of the unrelenting praise. He'll still admit that little tidbit to me?

"You think so? I guess you do have some taste after all then," I reply smirking, wherein he rolls his eyes and resumes walking up the steps.

As we reach the top of the staircase, I notice Granger and Weasel standing there talking outside the door very close together holding hands. Lovely.

Their conversation ceases as they see us, the 'intruders'. Separating from each other, Weasley walks away slowly in a strange stupor, glaring at me for interrupting. I raise an eyebrow at him, and walk forwards towards the door.

I open it, and noticing that the ginger kid is still staring at Granger with puppy dog eyes, I think fast on my feet. Turning towards her I say in an ever-so-slightly polite voice with a tiny smile; 'After you,' and nod to Granger.

She looks completely taken aback to my delight, while Weasley's mouth gapes slightly in his usual idiotic manner. Anything to wipe that stupid undeserved grin off his mug.

Granger hesitates, but wanting to be the well-mannered girl she is, she hoists her bag around her shoulder and stutters a 'T-thank you…'

I smirk at the Weasel who cracks his knuckles in rage, while following after her into the room.

Inside, it's extremely bright and extremely large. The walls give off a nice magic induced turquoise, and on the floor is a soft maroon velveteen carpet. I expected a set-up of instruments and space but find instead that there are many chairs lined up in rows. Though this doesn't bother me much, I've learned over the years to ignore these trivial Hogwarts things.

I'm about to sit down in the back row when I realize the seats have envelopes with names on them. I was about to settle down on…..I pick up the yellow envelope: Wayne Hopkins's seat.

He's in Hufflepuff, right? Probably.

I search through the rows quickly and spot 3 green envelopes in the second one. Immediately I go over to that spot since obviously they're for Nott, Milicent Bullstrode (who was the only female 7th year Slytherin who came back), and I. I grab the seat in the middle, where '_Draco Malfoy'_ is.

Nott comes and sits beside me on the left, wearing a little simper not unlike the one I usually sport.

"What?" I ask him when he continues to stare at me with his secret grin long after we've sat down.

"I _knew_ you had the hots for her Drakes," he states and gives a little laugh.

"For the last time, _Theodore,_ I do not! I held the door for her because I merely like pushing little Weasel's buttons."

Nott glares at me as I said his first name, but shrugs it off quickly, relishing my hot-tempered reaction. "Ooh, testy, aren't you? And how would pushing Weasley's buttons equate to being polite to a Mudblood, hmm?"

"Well, have you seen the way he looks at her? Like he's in love or something, and, -"

Nott's smile grows wider.

"What?"

"So you've been watching her closely huh? You so _obviously_ aren't into her," he says sarcastically. "But now that I think about it, you've always made Potter's life a living hell – jealousy maybe?" he continues scathingly. "You feel internal attraction but push it away by being nasty to her because it's confusing to you. She's a Mudblood after all – she's almost like forbidden fruit where we stand isn't that right? Something maybe you want, but you can't have because of your status."

Okay, now he's just getting annoying. _That isn't true at all,_ I state firmly in my mind as I feel a presence next to me.

Milicent Bullstrode is presently sitting to my right. Ugh, she has on such a strong grandma-style perfume I can barely breathe. And she's a rather erm, shall we say a big-boned girl. She's squishing me.

3 times the size of me, she is; which is rather pathetic.

My stomach as if on cue rumbles loudly.  
_Fuck, I need to eat._

Well I can't now, can I? I ignore the hunger beneath my skin, returning to my thoughts.

The point Nott's trying to make...is not true..._At all!_

Granger is an ugly, buck- toothed, bushy haired, insufferable know it all. Who's friends with Potter.

And a Mudblood. A _filthy _little Mudblood.

But as I turn to look at her once more out of the corner of my eye in an attempt to affirm my thinking, ….I'm uncertain about that last statement.

She's just there sitting next to Dean Thomas, certainly looking clean…no, not dirty at all. She looks like she'd smell rather nice, actually.

And her teeth are not buck toothed – but of course; I jinxed her in 4th year, they grew all the way to the floor. Maybe she's had them fixed? Weren't her Muggle parents reformers of teeth or something? That's what Blaise said. _Ick._

As for her hair…it no longer holds the same signature tangledness; it's relaxed and curly instead of a huge bush, though it could use some work. Not to mention her nice eyes – no, I unfortunately can never get them permanently out of my mind when she's in my viewpoint.

_Ugh_.

Nott must have caught on to exactly what my trains of thought were for he says,  
"Well I don't exactly blame you for your little crush – she definitely isn't the ugly duckling she was a few years ago. Kinda hot, actually – nice rack," he nudges me.

"I like where your mind always is," I say dryly.

"Students!" McGonagall announces as she walks in from the office in the back. An immediate silence is cast over the room, thank Merlin.

She strides confidently up to the front of the room – Professor Flitwick in tow. Whispers emanate throughout the rows of people; _Why is Flitwick here?_

"_Ain't it a cryin' shame she's not in Slytherin? Can you imagine is she was a pureblood? I'd hit it up in a second, the delicious little strawberry_" Nott whispers and laughs, grabbing my attention back to Granger, who has a smile lingering on her lips and a concentrated look in her eyes.

McGonagall starts talking but I'm not listening.

I can't get the idea of 'forbidden fruit' out of my head.

Something I _can't_ have? 'Can't' isn't in the Malfoys' dictionary. It simply doesn't exist.

I get everything I want, _always_. At least, materially. Not that women are material, but you get it. The few times when I don't have my way, I'm a rather unhappy boy.

I could have Granger if I wanted, easily. Right? Just because she can't be bought per se doesn't mean I can't turn on the charm, and jewellery always works on girls…

Wait, wait, wait….I don't even _want_ Granger – this is all merely, hypothetical. Yes.

Stupid Nott and his bloody fruit….

* * *

I listen to McGonagall as intently as I can as soon as she begins her opener. So far nothing she has said is of great interest, she's just discussing the curriculum in depth.

There will be 2 lessons a week; the first will be theory. A history of music and the composers, as well as a comprehensive knowledge of learning the terminology.

The second will be actual performance; we'll practice our playing in that time and receive help from the professor on aspects we can improve in.

This is all so exciting! I'm trying to think happy thoughts about music while sitting comfortably and quietly next to Dean and Lavender. However, I can't get Ron's conversation topic out of my mind…

Ron just asked me if I had wanted to try our _relationship_ again. I was so in shock at the request I didn't know what to say. For once, I was _happy_ to see Malfoy and his greasy friend in the vicinity so I could make an excuse to 'talk to him later'. More like in a year...

I wonder what Malfoy is playing at, him holding the door for me. And _smiling_? It was a nice gesture, no doubt, just not like him at all...he's up to something.

Anyways, _Ron_. I was thinking about Ron.

I love him obviously, and dearly. But I still don't know in what sense. I'm scared to keep risking our friendship over and over again like this. Kissing him makes me feel a spark inside my heart, yes. But everything is else feels too awkward for me. I don't know if I truly _want_ Ron as my boyfriend after what happened in the summertime. Which I am _not_getting into right now, thank you. That story will come in due time.

I've had more emotional attachment to him than anyone him else ever in my life. But our relationship was too fast, and it didn't feel right. After all we've been through you'd think I'd be satisfied with the 'adventures' we had, that I'd still be so madly in love with him….but I'm not. Jealousy raged through me in 4th year all the way till 6th about him not realizing how I felt about him. When I finally thought he felt the same way, like that he went to Lavender. I'd dreamed and dreamed about our future lives together, if we would have children, where we would live.

But now, after growing up so much last year, I'm realizing he's still immature and incompatible to me. His quirks that I loved so much became annoying when we were 'together'; he didn't give space. He was jealous and all over me. I don't like to be pawed. I like to be independent, I always have. I need space to do things. And he wouldn't leave me alone for fear of me seeing god forbid another boy.

Most of all, I really don't think this is about Ron in himself; it's about me. I'm older now, and I want to test the waters shall we say, for at least a bit, before declaring my eternal love for someone and starting a family. I want to be more adventurous with my relationships now that I've found myself a little bit over him, not just take Ron back because he's here in front of me. I always want Ron to forever be in my life, and _that_ I'll admit is selfish. But I just need more time; what he did to me and our trust a few months ago has yet to be rebuilt even though we've forgiven each other.

"_Hermione, are you alright?"_ I look up in surprise, popped from my bubble, to see it was Dean who whispered at me, looking slightly concerned.

I then realize I've had the glazed look about my eyes again. Too much thinking.

I sigh and reply, "Yes, sorry, just thinking." And give him a small smile.

He nods and grins, then we both focus once again on Flitwick who had taken over for McGonagall.

"…..and end with present day music, in which we will have an end of the year performance. Now, on to proper business – I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm present," he chuckles in his high voice. "And the reason is this: The difference in skill levels of those who have been playing for years, and those who have just started are so vast that we've decided to break the years into smaller groups based on their rank." There's a general murmur throughout the room.

Whispers cascade through the depths of the rows of students.  
"_Nice, she thinks we suck, so they're separating the lot of us."  
"Honestly though, I'd rather play in front of people who won't internally laugh at me than at all the stupid advanced kids."  
"Oh god, this is so embarrassing, imagine finding out you're so bad you've been placed in beginner….horrible!"_

This might be slightly problematic, I think as I glance around the room. Every single student has apprehension etched into their faces. Then the negativity starts rolling in on myself.

If I make it into Advanced, what if I'm the worst of the bunch? On the other hand…there'll be less people probably, less people that I make a fool of myself in front of.

Intermediate I may be better than some, and then again maybe I won't….And even if I am, what if they think I'm just a show-off? What if I'm with people like Lavender who have no problem calling me out in public?

I really don't like having attention brought upon me, and after last year I sure get a lot of it. Questions every day, always centered around the same old topics. It's tiring to say the least, but at least now people know I wasn't, or am, just a good for nothing know-it-all. At least I hope that's how they view me.

I just want to be in a class that will challenge me, and one that I can enjoy.

_Oh, Merlin, I really hope I'm put in the right one._

I bite my lip in anxiety. _Just get on with it!_

"_Ahem_," McGonagall clears her throat and everyone shuts up. "Professor Flitwick is going to teach the beginners of all years, while I handle the intermediate and advanced. This will only apply to the playing and practicing lesson of course. The material for music history is the same for each ranking, so I see no need to split you up again. We will all reconvene together for the second class of the week. Unnecessary and far too much time to waste to make 3 more classes. We've already had to cut the first to third years classes due to a tight schedule, so be thankful you even have the chance to participate in this." She looks so flustered. I feel so much empathy for her and all the hard work she puts in to this school. "Anyways, enough about that. You will find your rank in your envelope, as well as the schedules. Advanced classes are first this afternoon, and they start in an hour's time. Bring your instrument for we are beginning practice today! Thank you, see you all later." She finishes her exhausting speech and urges everyone to leave _before_ they start to open their envelopes.

I hurriedly spring up, grab my bag and walk out of the classroom in a daze. Everyone does the same as I, walking down the corridor and chatting wildly nervous about what the contents of our sacred letter says. Dean and Seamus, well actually the rest of the Gryffindors, tow in my wake.

"Come along Hermione, we're going to open them all together right now!," Lavender squeals excitedly at me as I'm about to turn a corner away from them. Reluctantly, I pause and retreat to my house companions.

Neville looks less than enthused at this prospect, and Pavarti huffs outwardly. I nod and timidly saunter beside Neville to the bottom of the staircase, and onto a bench directly opposite to a group Ravenclaws.

As I take a seat beside Dean onto the stone, I notice everyone around me staring at each other, waiting until the cue to open; Seamus, Dean, Pavarti, Lavender, Neville, Cormac (who plays the drums), Fay Dunbar (who plays the xylophone of all things), and me.

"Um," I say nervously, restless. "Why don't we just get on with it?"

Everyone nods seriously and tears into their envelope slowly. As I'm about to rip off the Hogwarts seal, I hear a laugh, and turn to see Malfoy and the greasy boy, Nott, standing on the staircase and leaning against the curved wall. Malfoy looks unamused, while his company looks quite the opposite, talking his ear off about something idiotic no doubt.

Suddenly Malfoy catches my eye, and smirks as he notices what I'm doing. He's holding his own envelope gingerly in his hand, in no rush to open it, the prat. Probably thinks he's made it into advanced, no problem.

_He probably has…_a small voice reminds me from the back of my mind. Ugh, do I even want to be in that class now if he's in it?

I notice that I think all this while still staring at the damn boy, who beckons his head towards my hands, where I'm grasping the envelope tightly still. I frown at him, and the smirk widens and he winks at me.

And the wink makes my stomach flip flop. I'm unsure if it's in a good way or not, though I want to lean towards the bad.

He just looks so effortlessly attractive standing over there, in his clean loose dress shirt and robes. He's given up his normal beauty regime, and no longer puts disgusting gel in his hair. His platinum blondness actually looks touchably soft now, the slight fringe that frames his face peeks at his eyes.

My eyes widen and a flush creeps to my cheeks.

Why am I even thinking about Malfoy like this? 'Testing the waters' does not include boys who have been rude to you since day one. Yet, I can't help but think back to the day on the Owlery...when I fell on him.

I felt the same bubbling feeling in my chest from him winking at me as I did when he stared into my eyes when I practically straddled him.

_Which was in a bad way_, I remind myself. God, I shouldn't be thinking about him...

Luckily, a satisfied yelp comes from beside me and I can be momentarily distracted.

"Yes! Advanced!" Dean shouts and slaps Seamus' hand.

"Me too! This is going to be a right awesome class to be sure," Seamus beams. I smile lightly at their adorable friendship, and notice everyone else outraged at their pages.

"Beginner? Who does McGonagall think she is!" Cormac says angrily.

"I-I got Beginner too," Neville groans.

"I'm in intermediate…well at least you have some friends in each level." Pavarti tries optimistically.

"Ditto," Fay says unconcerned.

I look at Lavender and see her breathing heavily, a look of pure shock on her face.

"What, W-what is it Lav?" Pavarti asks, worried.

"Beginner." Everyone freezes, turning to look at each other, knowing too well what's going to happen next.

"_Beginner. Beginner?_ Is she serious! The horny toad!" she practically screams, and everyone jumps and goes silent, unwilling to say anything in case she hexes them into space.

Then she fixes her gaze on me, mad eyes glaring at me. "And what about _you_, Miss Perfect Performance? Where do you stand? You haven't even opened it you little, arrogant- "

"Okay, that's enough!" Dean warns her, then looks curiously expectant at me. All eyes are on me.

Oh god, please no.

I shake as I tear the envelope, noticing that Malfoy is still staring at me from over by the wall. _Stop it._

I neatly fold out the parchment inside and scan the page, down past the boring bits to find the sentence I'm looking for:

…_pleased to inform you, _Hermione Granger, _that you have been placed in the _Advanced _category._

For a second, I'm unable to speak.

"_Advanced," _I breathe shakily, excitement and relief exploding from my chest.

"WHAT?" Everyone else quips, wanting to know the outcome.

"Advanced!" I squeak. Dean surprisingly engulfs me in a hug, saying he's glad I'll be with Seamus and him, while everyone else cheers appreciatively. Except Lavender of course.

"Yay, Hermione!" Neville says, smiling. "You deserved it."

I look up at my friend and beam. "Oh, thank you Neville! That's so sweet." And then suddenly the reality of the situation hits me.

Ohmygod! I must go practice, _now!_ I've only got 45 minutes to tune and revise!

I jump up out of Dean's still lingering arms and snatch my bag from the floor.

"_What?_ What is it?" Dean asks.

"I've got to go practice of course! Get my violin ready. Class is in 50 minutes!" Don't they understand the importance of first impressions in class? Who cares if it's McGonagall? I wave to everyone and hurry off, not before hearing a few chuckles and Neville say fondly,

"_Only Hermione…"_

* * *

I really _don't_ want to open this wretched letter.

On the one hand, I want to be in Advanced because I know I'm worthy of it. Sorry to brag folks, but I _am_ pretty amazing when it comes to music, if all else fails.

On the other hand, do I really want to share a class with Granger?

Well, maybe to finally beat her at something for once…yeah that makes sense. I do like seeing her squirm. Winking at her was genius anyways. She looked all frowny and confused and then I made her blush the silly lamb.

_She looked kind of cute._

NO, she fucking didn't. Shut up, brain, you don't even know what you're saying.

God, I really need to fucking eat something.

I stare at the bright green letter in my hands and think of apple flavoured Fizzing WhizBees.

And then I want to throw up. _I hate those things._

And then I look directly in front of me and want to throw up more. Stupid Thomas and Finnigan are going to be in the Advanced class as well, I realize. Ugh. They would have to be, wouldn't they? Just to make my life even more of a living hell.  
Stupid Gryffindors.

I sigh dejectedly as I lean into the wall and cross my arms. Nott is talking a mile a minute about something irrelevant.

"And then she lifted her leg into the air, all the way above her head just like that! And I was all, damn girl, how'd you learn that? And she was all…"

I scan the gold letters of my name on the envelope back, and decide to get it over with.

"Nott?" I interject, annoyed he won't shut up.

"Oh, sorry, what?" he asks sheepishly.

"Let's open these," I respond, waving my hand with the letter in the air.

"Oh-okay sure," he says, nervous.

And I suddenly realize I am too. _Because what if he isn't in my class? _Actually, what if he _is_?

As I stare at his broad face and stringy hair, I realize that I depend on him to be my sort of wingman. But at the same time, I can't stand him. His mundane stories, his all-around arrogant creepiness. It's enough to drive you insane. Ugh.

It's a lose-lose situation. If I'm in Advanced I'll be all by myself, a lonely Slytherin (Millicent is awful. I apologise, but she is not a graceful clarinet player). It's not _that_ big of a deal since it's only once class and I work better alone, but it would be nice to not be so isolated all the time.

On the flipside, I'll be stuck with the whiny bitches if I get Intermediate, and Nott will probably make my bones turn to sawdust with his drawn out exaggerated stories.

Okay stop it, Draco. Just open it already.

1…2…3.

I fold the top of the envelope over the back, and pull out the white sheet inside. Smoothing the creases, I read the page carefully, not missing a word.

"What'd you get-"

"Shh!" I silence him. He mumbles something, but I ignore it.

I read for a moment or two, then anxiety takes the best of me and find the section I'm looking for.

_We are_ _pleased to inform you, _Draco Malfoy, _that you have been placed in the _Advanced _category._

I gape at the sentence for a few seconds, unable to decide whether or not to be pleased or disappointed.

"So, so , soooooo?" Nott urges motioning with his hands.

"A-advanced?" I say looking up at him, trying to sound happy. But it comes out confused.

"Wow, that's awesome Drakes! I'm in intermediate," my chest hitches in fear, "but I'll be okay. Probably a lot more people in that class, so that equates to uber amounts of chicks. I'm a stud now remember?" He laughs. "And Grangers in your class, so you're all set now too!" he teases and punches me in the arm.

I make a little noise of pain and rub my bicep; _I'm frail you cretin! And I do _not_ like Hermione Granger!_

_"Would you just shut _up_ about her!" _I whisper-yell at Nott.

Nott's little smile fades and he looks at me quizzically.

"I'm just pulling your chain, Malfoy...and even if you did like her it doesn't really matter anymore. I've never really cared about blood much to be honest, Dad just was convinced I should. I'm pretty sure there aren't enough Slytherins around to judge you." He finishes looking at me apprehensive, like I'm going to explode again. I feel awkward now getting so angry at him.

"Boys! Wait!" I swivel behind me and see Slughorn panting to catch up with Nott and I, even though we weren't attempting to run away in the first place.

Slughorn grasps his chest and breathes deeply, holding out is hand in a 'just a moment' fashion, the dramatic little fat man.

"Yes, professor?" I try to say politely. Why is his wand in such a knot?

"Do you have – _wheeze-_ a moment? We need to talk! And get Bullstrode too." He says urgently.

_No, I_ _do_ not_ have a moment!_ I need to go get my shit together before I sit with the lot of these idiots in my new class.

"Um, may we ask why?" Nott prods.

"Quidditch! _Quidditch_! !" he replies loudly and stupidly. "Headmaster wants to cut our team out of the league because of the low student count. First years aren't supposed to have their own brooms remember?"

_Boy, do _I_ remember, _I think bitterly.

"If you want Slytherin to have a team this year we need to persuade McGonagall we have a team! Now come, come, be in my office in 5 minutes. Do you hear me, five!"

_No Quidditch team? !_

Nott and I look at each other, both thinking the same thing.

First, nobody shows up for school making the Slytherin pride suffer (and trust me, pride is the _most_ imperative weapon in our houses arsenal). And now there's the potential humiliation of not being able to compete for the Cup because we aren't able enough?...

"MILLICENT!"


	9. Testing the Waters

**_I wish I could be the one, the one who won't care at all.  
But being the one on the stand, I know the way to go, no one's guiding me.  
When time soaked with blood turns its back, I know it's hard to fall.  
Confined in me was your heart.  
I know it's hurting you, but it's killing me.  
- Chapter Four_, Avenged Sevenfold**

* * *

_-Knock Knock!-_

We hear a shuffling and many muffled voices in the interior of the office as we rap on Slughorn's door. There's a momentary silence within and then a small fist year girl opens it. Inside are _all_ the Slytherin students, all miniscule 23 of them.

Nott, Millicent and I glance each other's way. This is potentially a bigger matter than first thought.

We saunter inside the crowded room, as Slughorn notices us: "Ah, yes, you three; come join us," he mutters in hushed tones.

He's sitting behind his large maple desk, students sprawled and fidgety in the chairs in front of him. Graham is seated in the place where the Professor interrogated me about my 'fight', his friend Heathcliff next to him.

I notice to the left that there are leather couches set up beside an ornate fireplace. Some little kids are taking up the space on them; I walk over to them and give them the trademark glare, the superiority glare.

A small boy cowers slightly and then jumps off his seat so I can sit down. Nott follows my example;  
Slughorn seems to take no notice.

_Ah, the perks of seniority._

"Now as you are all very aware, we are very scarce this year in Slytherin," Slughorn begins to murmurs of agreement and resentment. "In order for our House to play in the Quidditch Cup this year, we need a solid team. And as you can see, we only have a few members of our Quidditch team from 2 years ago, as last year it was, ahem, banned." He nods his head at me and then Eldon Harper, who's a year younger than me. He took my place in 6th year as seeker when I was busy elsewhere.

I didn't even consider Eldon a part of our team…he was awful at trials, and we lost every game as I recall.

"Professor McGonagall has informed me that if we can scrounge up a team by tomorrow we're in, so what I think we should do is-"

"Excuse me?" I interrupt, outraged. Slughorn's eyes widen and he looks at me with a nervous smile. "_Tomorrow?_ You're joking, right? How in Merlin's saggy tits are we supposed to come up with a reasonable team in a day! Why didn't we have any forewarning? !" I cross my arms in a defiant manner, livid at this man's never-ending growth of stupidity.

"W-well, you see, there was a meeting with the Captains last week about this very matter," he stutters. "But since our last Captain graduated and last year there was no playing permitted, I – I, didn't send one to the conference." A few whispers of annoyance descend throughout the room. _How could he do that?_

I want to find a sharp blade and pierce his brain till it falls out of his fat head.

I feel my face grow red with rage, and blurt out uncontrollably; "You bumbling buffoon! Don't you realize that _every_ other house hates us? And especially our Quidditch team, since we almost always make it to the finals! I'm sure they'd be more than happy to have us not play, let alone try to convince McGonagall all the perfectly good reasons why we're unfit to even have a line-up!"

Slughorn looks at me sharply, although an edge of fear is etched in his face; he knows we're mad. I can see Millicent's fists balled together as she sits on the arm of the couch beside me.

But being the one in charge, he tries to pull himself together. "Well, my boy, if _you_ can find 7 willing people to play on a team plus replacements, you're more than welcome to train _all_ of them, and be the captain," he says bitterly. "I just didn't think that we could find 7 suitable players out of 15, first years are never fit to play such a rough game, most of them are just learning to fly! We can't allow them to."

"_Except 'Golden' Potter is allowed, of course,"_ I grumble.

"Enough of your tongue mister Malfoy!" he says harshly. "Don't think that I don't want to have a team as well, this is rather embarrassing for me too…"

I can see right through him. He didn't tell us about the meeting because he figured that we wouldn't be able to pull ourselves together in time; if he doesn't have a good team , he'd rather us not play in case we embarrass ourselves and by a degree, him.

But _I_ want to play! I'm sure _someone_ here wants to fly; who cares anymore about winning anyways? We are obviously going to be awful, but believe it or not I was just starting to enjoy Quidditch and not just the 'I'm a better flyer than you' aspect of the game. I miss it.  
I crave an activity where I can escape my terrible thoughts.

"Don't you think," Astoria pipes up timidly, standing beside a friend, "That it would be a lot more humiliating to give up? To admit that we would be awful, instead of at least trying to prove that we aren't quitters?"

"Diginity I feel, is far more important than courageousness at this point, my dear. Yes, we have a small supply of it in our stocks, but why dampen our pride when we have a generally valid excuse? We simply do not have enough students!"

What a bastard. Obsessed with good presentation, isn't he?

_You're just bitter because you weren't in the Slug Club_, a voice in my head dithers. _And don't talk, so are you._

Yeah, I am. But it doesn't mean he isn't a self-righteous prick.

"But if you all insist on this, let's take it to a vote: those who want to play, and _actually_ be a part of it, raise your hand." Slughorn says sighing.

I immediately raise mine firmly, as does Harper. After seeing me show my eagerness, Graham puts his hand up; his friend Heathcliff doing the same, albeit slightly more enthusiastic than I had.

To my surprise, Nott _and _Millicents hands remain on their laps. As us 4 hand-raises look around at the rest of our housemates, we see shame and reluctance imprinted into their expressions, and I get more agitated if that's humanly possible. All the first years look too scared to defy Slughorn's words.

Astoria tentatively raises her arm at last, but it's still not enough.

After a long tense moment, Slughorn exhales. "Well there you have it. Slytherin will, kindly, _decline."_

A groan echoes throughout the room; Slughorn's started to get angry at all this refutation of his words: "Do not place your blame upon me! I gave you a vote! Only 5 people are willing to play. This decision is final."

At his concluding sentence, I pull myself furiously off of the couch and exit the classroom, shutting the door behind me, '_kindly'._

Luckily, nobody comes out to follow me.

I shove my hands down my pockets, and moodily ball them into angry fists. I feel a giant urge to punch walls but I refrain.

I might as well not pile on the addition of being late to my first music class only to lose more 'Slytherin pride' by McGonagall taking away 10 points and bruising my body as well as my ego. I storm down the hallways, aiming to get to the designated practice room, cursing the school for changing the room participants from Houses to years at the last minute.

I'm getting sick of this nonsense. Next chance I get, I'm stocking up on Firewhiskey. This year will go far better if I'm constantly absent of my soberness.

* * *

"Wow, that was brilliant!" I raise my head suddenly and notice Dean sitting across from me on a blue vinyl couch, eyes incredulous. I just finished practicing a short Haydn piece before class.

I blush at his appraising gaze. I hadn't noticed him come in; I was alone before he was here. But then, I'm always mesmerized by the notes free flowing on the pages of composition books. They _are_ books after all.

"Thank you, Dean," I try modestly. I don't even know how he can complement me, he is so amazing! He played Pachelbel's Canon (among many others) during the audition, on his steel silver guitar. However, he did it all on his own and had changed the arrangement entirely. I feel like he values music as much as I do, and I could be prejudiced because he's Muggle-born as well but, he just – _gets_ it.

_Like Malfoy._

No! Not like Malfoy, I curse my brain. That _cockroach_. No matter how talented he is at playing, he will never truly understand what it is to be a good musician. All the greatest composers in the world were Muggles, and he thinks he's too far above them to appreciate them the way I and Dean do. His mind is far too warped for that.

"Hermione," Dean pops my bubble of thoughts and I look up at him and smile, glad for a distraction. "I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"Of course," I say, more keen than I feel. This is the second time today I have a heart-to-heart with someone.

He beckons me over to sit next to him. I carefully put my bow down, set my violin in its case, and nervously walk over to my allocated spot.

"What is it?" I ask, looking him up and down. I can't help but rate him on his physicality, being in such close proximity.

Ever since last year, though I try to hide the memories, I feel like we have a sort of bond. Dean was captured with Harry, Ron and I when we were brought to the Malfoy's. We were treated and perceived much the same during the war; we come from the same background. It's a little comforting.

I've always known that Dean was a genuinely nice person, and very smart, but I've been so obsessed with Ron for the past couple years, I never stopped to examine other boys. Which I find myself doing to Dean presently.

He's got gorgeous golden eyes surrounded by smooth, unblemished dark skin. Super tall, even more so than Ron I think, and I like that. He smells clean, and the lingering stench of food that Ron always seems to have is replaced by simple soap. Nice.

"I know you and Ron had a thing last year," he starts carefully, bringing me to attention, and knowing he's treading on deep water. I wince, hating that I've been so blatant about my affections. "But, I've always really admired you, Hermione. And I realized when you were on stage last week that I find you attractive."

What! ?

"W-what do you mean?" I utter stupidly.

"Well, you're so brave and smart, and really a lovely person. And I'm sorry, but girls who play anything are a real turn on for me." He looks down at his lap and smiles, embarrassed. I _should_ feel awkward at how brazen he's being towards me, but I actually quite like his straightforwardness. He's telling me how it is to him, and apparently what it is, is that I'm a good musician!

"Not to mention you're gorgeous." I look away immediately, self-conscious. Okay, smart and brave I can see, but gorgeous? Definitely not.

"No, but thank you," I say chuckling uncomfortably.

"Oh, but you are," he says now concerned about proving his point, and he brushes a stray hair from my face, making me look at him. "You have a carelessness about you that's endearing. You don't wear tons of make-up and make a hundred outfit changes because your mind is always on something else more important. But you have naturally beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile." I blush harder at that sentiment, feeling grateful my teeth are no longer beaver-like. "And I like your hair. It's mad that these girls spend hours trying to straighten it, yours looks so healthy."

My hair? _My _hair? God, it's strange getting all these compliments in one go.

"So anyways" he says now turning slightly red. "Back to the point; would you like to –"

But he doesn't get to finish his sentence; the door to the room slams open and inside comes who _else_, but Draco Malfoy.

I jump at the sudden chunk of loud noise, and Dean glares at him, but doesn't say anything.

As Malfoy notices us sitting together, his face contorts into a grimace. "Having a fun time are we?" he says sarcastically.

He then strides over to his exquisite piano in its shrunken state, and grabs it gently. He swivels dramatically around and before exiting spits, "Better get a move on, shouldn't you? Don't want to be late for class. Probably would get your knickers in a knot if that happened eh, Granger?"

What is _with_ his mood swings? First he holds the door for me, actually being decent for whatever reason, and now he's being a total troll. Ugh. It seems like something's wrong, but why should I care when he's being so rude?

After I fail to grace him with a response, he shakes his blond head and shuts the door hard.

He has a point, I think bitterly, about being late, but I'm far more interested in knowing what the boy beside me is going to ask me.

A silence ensues before anyone speaks again; "I _really _hate him," Dean says, a frown etched on his face.

My usual response would be, _me too,_ yet this time I find myself retorting his statement. What comes tumbling from my mouth surprises even me. Because I find it to be _true._

"I think he's changed," is what comes from my mouth, and Dean looks momentarily stunned. "Well, I mean, he's still a git, but he hasn't called me horrible names or really acted out so far this year."

Dean lolls his head to the side and gives a non-committal shrug; and then I remember it was he who helped beat up Malfoy. I lose a bit of respect in the back of my mind for him….but only a bit.

"I just think….he really doesn't want to be a bad guy, but the only way he knows how to work is to bargain or bully people. I mean, he was afraid last year when we were….you know. At his house. But he could've ratted us all out and he didn't, he could've done worse, and for that I am grateful, even if it was from cowardice. If he had said something, Voldemort would've gotten to us for sure."

I expect Dean to become hostile towards me, but instead he's grinning when I look up at him.

"You're so….great. You find the good in people, Hermione. You'd think after years of hate you`d feel the same way back, but you are neverendingly kind. Last year, when we were in that wretched basement of his, I was so scared that you were going to not make it….when. You know…?"

Oh god, do I know.

An image of Bellatrix Lestrange and her devilish grin flashes in my mind but I shake it away; she's dead, the foul creature, and she`ll never again hurt me.

"But," Dean says trying to recover his mistake, catching my torn expression "It wasn't until recently I thought that maybe it could be _more_ of a friendship that we had. I just never dared ask before now because Ginny is your friend. She has Harry now, and I apologized for being rude to her. So anyways, that leaves me free to ask you…..to go on a date maybe? With me.  
A _date_? With Dean?

"When?" is what I rudely reply. He looks slightly crestfallen but regains his composure by saying, "Hogsmeade maybe? In 2 weekends?"

I struggle slightly; we were supposed to go out for lunch, Harry, Ron, Ginny and I, for Ron`s birthday. It was on the audition day but Ginny and I were too busy to celebrate it properly, so we decided to do it more extravagantly then.

I explain all this to Dean, whose smile fades. We would have to wait a long while to go on a proper date if I say no, but being the softie I am, I stupidly chime, "But, I'm sure it would be fine if you came….you could just accompany me while I buy Ron a magnificent birthday gift?" I ask lightly, and raise my eyebrows.

He laughs, and grabs a hold of my hand.

"And maybe a stop for tea?" he asks, and I know he's speaking of Madam Puddifoot`s.

"Why not?" I say almost coyly, winking once. _Me? _Coy?

"Sounds delightful," he responds, and with that he gets up. "Walk you to class?"

"Sounds delightful," I mimic and he gives me a little playful shove.

I think I like this testing the waters idea.

He looks at me and smiles, standing up. Then he reaches out a hand to help me off the couch, saying "Shall we?".

I really do think I like it.

* * *

Stupid Granger and Thomas. Acting all googly and disgusting when I wanted to get in one quick practice_, bah_.

I'm sitting all by my lonesome waiting for class to begin, way in the corner as the _rest_ of the Advanced kids all bunch together over there. McGonagall appears to have rearranged the room to be smaller; now only a few seats plus her desk are evenly spread out along the carpet. I grew my piano back to size and placed it out of the way to the left, where I currently reside, so no grimy hands can touch it.

There are only 8 of us altogether: Granger, Thomas, Finnigan, Cho Chang, Ernie MacMillan, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott and I.

This is going to be fun….

I hear the door lurch open and a few stray giggles; oh goody, the lovebirds are here.

Granger and Thomas waltz into the room, grinning like idiots at each other, and continue on to sit next to their fellow Gryffindor Seamus. Everyone looks surprised at this sudden manifestation; even pompous MacMillan, who thinks he knows _everything._

Granger flickers her gaze towards where I am, and when she spots me her smile fades slowly as she sits down. _Hmm, now why is that?_

Maybe because I was such a prick to her back in the room yet held the door open for her this morning?

Pssh, I don't care anyways. I'm still in a foul mood from the Quidditch results.

"Good afternoon students!"  
McGonagall marches into the room quickly and confidently to the front, and everyone comes to attention and follows her to their seats.

"I apologize for my tardiness, I was having a conversation with Professor Slughorn."

I sink into my chair, and cover my forehead with my hand. I pray nobody finds out until the first Quidditch match about the team….it's far too embarrassing for everyone to know now. Hopefully nobody lets slip the news for Slytherin. Gossip spreads fast in Hogwarts.

"Alright, I'm going to make this very clear right from the get-go; you 8 are extremely talented young individuals, and you've been placed in Advanced with the expectation that you will try your very best to improve. Should you slack off simply because you can play well, you may realize you are unfit fit for this class. It will _not_ be easy. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt also that you will not poke fun at the other students who are in lower levels," at this she glares directly at me, and I roll my eyes.

Then I realize…_everybody_ is watching me.

"So much for the benefit of the doubt…" I say aloud in my normal voice, and everyone except McGonagall turns pink and looks away.

"Our performances as you know," she continues as if I didn't interrupt, "will be all performed together, and I don't want the rest of the 7th years to be discouraged in their self-esteem. Any bullying or rude gestures like laughing or snide comments, and I may reconsider your position here and kick you out."

She finishes the stern part of her lecture and then changes her expression to a 'smile'; if you can call it that. "Now then, we're starting on Beethoven, the piece is _Fur Elise_." at this I am relieved. I'm excited to play, I realize. At least now I can prove to her that I _can_ play, instead of just 'losing my book'….stupid Heathcliff.

"Here are your books," and with a flick of her wand a small pile of books atop her desk float then descend and place themselves to their rightful owners: _Advanced Compositions for Exceptional Wizarding Musicians; Piano_ by Ludwig van Beethoven slides into my grip.

The books are colour-coordinated according to the instrument, I suspect as I look round. Cho's, Ernie's and mine are green (how fitting), Dean's is blue, Granger & Susan's are maroon, Seamus's is black, and Hannah's is purple (for the cello). Curiously, I flip through the pages, relishing in all the wonderful complexity of the notes.

"Do _not_ lose these," McGonagall says importantly. "Especially you, Finnigan, it is extremely difficult to track down fiddle translations of classical pieces." I look up from my book and see the great lummox nod. He's awful with magic, probably will lose it within the week.

There's a small clearing of a throat, and I avert my gaze to Granger, whose hand is up eagerly as always.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" McGonagall says fondly. Ew.

"The book says it was written by Ludwig van Beethoven, …surely you can't mean that…?"

McGonagall smiles, no doubt at Granger's 'immense knowledge' and perception. "Yes. But it was not Ludwig, it was Beethoven's father, Johann, that was indeed a wizard."

Granger's jaw drops. "But does that mean, he – Ludwig – _cheated_?" Her face is so priceless I can't help but give a smug smile. It would be just like her to assume that just because one is a wizard, he will try to improve everything.

For once, I know something that she doesn't. I for one, know _all_ the wizard composers just as well as the Muggle ones. God, I sound like Ernie…

"No, no, no, my dear. He didn't 'cheat', it's impossible. You can concoct potions to make you extremely talented at music, but it cannot stimulate your mind to be able to create pieces out of thin air; no doubt Beethoven's father wanted him to be successful as he was, and pushed his talent at a young age. Even if Ludwig's talents were somehow fake he still managed to compose like a genius. And in any case, if anyone had found out about any witchcraft powers, he no doubt would've been hung. I think Beethoven knew his life was coming to an end and he made an anthology of his favourite pieces. Only he knew of his father's secret, and donated this book to the wizard world before he died. Many people have added compositions to the book; but they feel that in light of the situation it would be fair to leave Beethoven's mark upon it forever in appreciation of his contribution."

Granger looks absolutely astounded and I can't help but laugh. She jerks her head toward me sneering, almost as good as I can. Thomas glares at me as half-heartedly as well and then looks away; probably still scared I'll rat him out about the fight.

"Enough history lessons for now, we can discuss this further in 2 days' time for the next class. You are now free to spend time practicing as you wish; in a few minutes we'll get in groups for _positive_ critique. If you need help call me for aid." And with that she sits at her desk, and starts to grade papers for Transfiguration.

Greaaaat, getting into groups. I feel as if I'm in in pre-wizard education class when we used to have to make inane presentations together. Ugh.

For now, I ignore all the other chumps and get in front of my beautiful piano and prop the book up on the music rack and get to work.

These are some of the moments I cherish the most; where my mind fades to such a simple, mechanical state and yet my fingers are just moving endlessly, gliding along simple keys to produce such wonderful creations. Nothing complicated, and nobody can put me down; I _know_ I'm marvellous.

_I only wish father could have cared enough to see it…_

I ignore my thoughts, crack my knuckles and rap my first note on the E key.

After Merlin knows how long, it only seemed like 5 minutes, McGonagall interrupts me, well, us.

"Alright, you've all been playing tremendously from what I've heard, now get into 2 groups of 4 and give your peers _helpful_, not callous, tips on what they can improve on." As I swivel around on my seat to look at the others I notice they too have the same bubble-popped look on their faces, the kind you get after being enthralled for a long time and then suddenly are interrupted.

We all just stare at each other, not wanting to move and join each other; it's different when you're in a large group, there's more room for error and better chance to be better than others. Here, we're all somewhat equal in skill, so we don't want anyone to play in case they beat our talents.

Suspecting that we're not budging, Madam Prof decides she'll place us ourselves.

"Alright then, if you're going to be difficult; Hannah, Ernie – you go with Dean annnnnd, Susan. Hermione and Seamus you can practice with Draco and Cho. Now off you go."

My face drops, _not with _her_._

I hear groans coming from my group, not to my surprise. Sometimes the insensitivity towards me all the time gets under my skin, but now it's just laughable. Honestly, this is a piece of cake for me. Giving constructive criticism is easy since I hand out snide comments all the time. A few snippings of harsh words from my regular vocabulary and I should be fine.

I stroll over with my hands in my pockets to Cho and Hermione who have decided to stand next to each other. Seamus is reluctant to move. The other group seems to have hit it off nicely, chatting and laughing at something Dean said. _How sweet._

McGonagall sends a scowl in our general direction and finally Seamus stands up, sighing.

"So –" Granger stammers, trying to clear the mood…or trying not to piss of McGonagall, either or. "Sh-shall we um, start?"

Silence.

"Might as well," I cut in, trying to gain control. If everyone is going to be a whiny nitwit, I guess I can have it my way. "I suggest we all play it first so we can compare each other better and then hand out corrections."

"…_Or praise_," Granger breathes.

"Yes, that too," I call her on it, and she blushes frowning.

"Who said we wanted to do it your way, Malfoy?" Seamus starts bitingly. But I tilt my head, step forwards and raise my eyebrows scowling: _Really, you want to do this now?_

"I think it's a good idea," Granger says, placing her hands out wide and marching in between us. _What?_

I drop my arms that were crossed, thoroughly surprised. Cho looks at her like she has 3 heads.

"Anyone have a better plan?" Nobody says a thing. "Well, come on; let's just get on with it, shall we? No point in wasting time arguing. I'll go first if I must." Then she walks over to her seat, waits for us to all sit down politely, and grabs her violin. Then she begins to play.

He first note sounds and I hear the familiar tune send out delicately from the instrument.

_God, she's good._ I watch her hands and gentle fingers as they strum and pluck and move the bow so smoothly. Her eyes are closed and she has a pleasant look about her face. It's quite mesmerizing.

Suddenly, she opens her eyes and she's staring at me, burning a hole in my soul, it feels like. I'm left feeling drained for some reason.

Except...now I realize she's finished and that's why she is looking at _us_, not me. Obviously…

But I still feel a little odd, I'm not sure why…..a little strained and…no. Oh, _no._

Oh no, no, no, no.

I'm hard.

I'm actually fucking _hard_. From…_her._

My dick is bulging into the seams of my pants like frog eyes, to be more vulgar about it.

_No, it can't be – it's from the music, obviously. Right? And she's talented, so she made it engrossing._

This can't be happening. I shiftily move my hand into my lap and cover the (thankfully) not to large erm, bump.

Luckily, Seamus decides to go next. As he beings to play he immediately turns me off with all his overdramatic breathing, and stupid superfast trills and fancy. When he's finished I've, thankfully, shrunk back to size.

He sits back down, and I levitate my piano over to where we are, deciding reluctantly to go; Cho being far too timid. I know I do a good job as I play by the sour look on Seamus's face - but don't make a big deal about it because I'm suddenly not in the mood to be Malfoy-ish today. _Stupid hormones._

I sit down after I'm finished, next to Granger, blah. Well I don't want to sit next to Seamus….her shoulder brushes mine lightly and I flinch – this is too much.

Cho finally gets up and shyly goes up to the piano. Wait… _my_ piano! _The little witch!_

She sits down and stretches her fingers, while I seethe. I feel a yearning want to blow her into owl droppings, but I can't because – because….why can't I?

_Because Granger's here._

So what! Cho Chang, ex-girlfriend of _Potter_ is setting her little ass and grimy fingers on my piano!

_Oh, shove it, you know you won't do anything. You like her Draco, don't deny it._

I do not! Just because I have a certain thing for girls who can play instruments and, well, I guess she isn't _that _bad look at, does NOT mean I like her! I'm not _that_ vain, you know.

_Psh, says the boy who rejected Millicent because she's too ugly and Daphne Greengrass because of her blood._

That was ages ago! I'm not like that anymore; and besides, they're both bumbling idiots.

_Aha, and Hermione is not._

Sod off, brain, you're just hungry.

Cho finishes, and we clap, (even though she was not very good). We all turn to stare at each other after she's rejoined us in our little circle of enemies.

"I think maybe we should just all give our input one at a time for everyone, instead of a case by case situation," Cho says, obviously not wanting us to dwell on her.

Granger nods, and I shrug. Seamus starts, without a word of warning.

"Alright, well, Hermione; you were excellent, Cho; you were really good too, and Malfoy, don't act like such a prick when you play."

I throw my hands in the air, palms towards the ceiling; what the hell?

'What! ?"  
"You close your eyes sometimes and it makes you look like you think you're too good to look at the notes, which you are _not_!"  
"Granger does that too!" I retort, and she blushes red.

"Okay, it's constructive remember?" Granger says, trying to ease tension. "I'll go. Seamus, you're really good so you don't need to try and add extra notes to show your talent off, you just do that sometimes, a bit…Cho, you're also amazing, just try to look more enthusiastic I guess? You look scared half the time."

Wow, these riff raff suck at criticism. Like any of this will actually get through to them. Of course we're 'amazing' and really good; we wouldn't _be_ in this class if we weren't. And another thing -

"Erm, D-Draco,"

Wait, did she just call me _Draco? _I flash a look at her, eyebrows furrowed, and she sinks into herself, embarrassed.

"I agree with Seamus, but not that you look like a prick per se….you just sort of have a little smile when you play and it makes you look a bit er, arrogant?"

_I do? _A smile? Hmm…  
"Do I really? Well that's so unlike me isn't it?' I bite sarcastically. She looks at me even more uncomfortable.

"Cho?" Hermione pleads.

But she's just too shy, this one. "I thought you were all good….." she whisper-murmurs.

For heaven's sake.

"Okay do you want some _real_ criticism now?" I say.

Seamus gives us a no, but I pretend I don't hear him.

"Finnigan, you make ridiculous breathing noises when you play, and add ludicrous trills and extra fluff you don't need in an already exquisite piece of work. Obviously you're good at playing, we all are or why would we be in advanced? So you don't need to try and prove it by being a show off, it just takes away from what you do. Second," I begin when Seamus starts to protest. "Chang, you are too shy, period. You have to have confidence in your playing otherwise you look like a hack. Get on that. And Granger…maybe open your eyes once in a while…." I end almost softly.

The three look at me funny but say nothing.

The class signals to end thank Merlin, and we all depart on our separate ways, myself exiting alone as quickly as humanly possible. As I walk down the hallway to the Great Hall, I catch a glimpse of Granger with Thomas, and she….she's smiling at me.

I think, anyways. I scan around me and see nobody else.  
It's not a smirk anyways. She does it and then shakes her head frowning almost immediately after, like she didn't know what she was doing – but I can't wash it from my mind.

Something is clearly not right.

_First_, I think she looks good multiple times this year.  
_Second_, I enjoy teasing her rather than simply hating her with a passion.  
_Third_, I get hard watching her play.

I didn't want to eat in the first place but now I don't even think I could if I tried. I need to _do _something about this…

I'm going to take a bath. Clear my head. I turn 360 degrees and walk towards the Dungeons where the common room is. I rush up to the dorms, and regret that decision as soon as I step into my dorm.

"Ahh! Malfoy!"

Nott is in here in his bed… pleasuring himself under the silver sheets. To a rather busty purple haired witch in his _Seductress _magazine. She hikes up her skirt higher and higher in the picture, stopping just below her, uh, area.

Disgusting.

"Honestly, can you do this someplace where I don't sleep," is all I remark, rolling my eyes.

"I-I…oh bollocs. Where are you going? Shouldn't you be eating?" _Ha._

"I'm taking a bath….maybe you should too." I say, still revolted. Yes, yes, it's a natural urge to touch yourself but personally I was never that fond of masturbation unless completely necessary – I'd much rather have a lovely witch do it than me.

As soon as I think this, Granger pops into my head, on her hands and knees naked, pumping her warm delicate hands up and down my shaft, until I….

NO.

NO.

_Draco, stop it!_

Imagine if mother knew you thought such things?

I shake my head and grab at my hair in frustration at these confusing thought. Reaching for my monogrammed towel from my dresser, I jet from the room quickly.

"Wait! I'll come with," Nott exclaims hastily, leaning out the door as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

'Alright, well let's go, chop chop, we haven't got all night…."

We walk in silence to the male baths moments later, a 5 minute walk from Slytherin house. We agree to meet each other on the outside in about 30 minutes; within the bathing area are individual rooms. I step inside mine, and turn on the luxurious soap and water taps. The tub is nice and big, very old fashioned, and surrounded by floating lit candles.

I strip down to nothing, and edge slowly in the water, grasping at this point how exhausted I am. The warmness of the bath makes me really relaxed and I lay my head back and try thinking about nothing. I immerse myself underwater once to get my face wet and find myself drifting off. The last thing I remember seeing is my left forearm…..

{}

"_I'll ask you again, you filthy Mudblood, How did you get my sword?" Bellatrix screeches at Granger, as I stand there motionless, unsure of what I should do with myself._

_Her excruciating screams fill the room as my aunt once again uses an unforgivable curse on her limp form._

"_I swear – it's a copy, a copy!"_

"_LIAR!"_

"_STOP, PLEASE, NO – IT- AHHHHHHH!"_

_I can't take it anymore, the awful pain I can see she's feeling. The writhing and tears. It's making me ill._

_I fall to my knees._

_'Draco?" my mother whispers to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. But she can't help the inner turmoil I feel._

_I want to save her, to help her more than I ever have wanted to help anyone in my existence._

"_S-stop….Aunt Bellatrix.." I start weakly, trying to get closer to my evilest relative.  
"What! ?" She screams at me, turning madly from Granger to me."Ohhh, is ickle Draco sad about the poor filthy girl dying? Make your stomach CHURN, does it? Ahahahahaha!"_

_She laughs like a crazy person and turns to Greyback, who has been standing watch from afar, lust and hunger clearly in his eyes.  
"Fenir, my darling, why don't you finish her off for me? She clearly isn't telling the truth."  
"Be my pleasure," he says with relish in his tone, his rancid teeth spreading to a grin._

_The next thing I see is ripping flesh and clothing, Granger now completely naked and crying hysterically as the werewolf runs his hands all along her bare skin, violating her in the most fiendish way, and then – he bites into her neck._

_Her blood sprays everywhere. He hit her jugular, and it gets onto my hands. Onto my clothes, and in my mouth._

_I feel myself sink and fall to the ground, the last thing I see before my eyes close are a pair of brown eyes, completely cold and lifeless. She's dead._

* * *

"That was a great meal," Ron says as he belches. We've just finished supper, and decided to take one of the longer routes to our rooms, past the Dungeons, enjoying each other's company.

Harry laughs, "Is it ever not for you?"

I smile as I walk alongside my best friends; it feels like ages since I saw them this morning. It's been a great day. I have a date and music was brilliant, despite its awkwardness at the end. All is well.

"Hermione about what I asked you earlier…have you decided?"  
And then again, maybe not.

Ron looks at me with expectant eyes, and I feel horrible that I'm going to have to make his grin fade. I completely forgot about his request in my happiness.

"Er Ron, I – well, Dean has asked me on a date and I said yes…" I blurt out as quickly as possible, not wanting to draw this out for Harry's sake.

"What! When?" Ron asks angry yet downtrodden.

"Well…today. I'm just not ready to try it again Ron; with you. I need to give it a rest for a while alright? I don't want to keep risking our friendship like this, I could never replace you if we had a falling out." I give him my sweet pleading eyes and he relents a little, relishing in my compliment.

"How long is a _while_? It's already been months," he replies sadly. I don't know what to say, he knows what happened and should know why I don't want this. "Why Dean! Why does Dean always have to swagger along to the women in my life and –"

"_HELP!"_

A loud yell resonates from directly behind us; we all freeze. It was not a regular cry for help, it was a desperate one.

Harry, Ron and I swivel around and gasp at the sight we behold.

Running towards us is that Nott boy, somebody cradled in his arms.

He sprints as he notices us. We're the only people in the corridor having left dinner slightly early plus going down a road far less travelled. Being the 'heroes' we normally are, we start to jog towards him. When I catch up with him, my stomach flips.

It's Malfoy.

His whole body is as white as sheet, even more than normal; his face almost purple. I'm guessing he's just come from a bath or something; he's covered only by a towel on his waist, his as well as Nott's hair still damp. All the anger I felt earlier about this Slytherin has melted away into fear.

I scan his face and torso in shock; he looks so helpless lying unconscious. I never realized how lithe he was. He's rock star thin!

In this dire state I can't help notice that his pale skin is nice and creamily smooth. His face looks a lot better when it's not so snarky.

Okay stop it, Hermione, focus!

"What happened?" Harry asks.

Ron and Harry, though they loathe Malfoy, look frightened. Maybe it's because they don't know what to do, but I think more likely they are starting to regret all the things they've done to Malfoy in the past (like turning him into a slug) just in case he…no, he's not going to _die_! _Stop being so dramatic._

'We-we, we were taking baths at the, the bath house, and he was just taking such a long time, I thought maybe it was just how long he normally took, but after 20 minutes of waiting I started to get worried and I barged in, and he was – under the water," Nott sobs.

Poor boy, he must be feeling _so_ guilty.

"Okay put him down on the floor, carefully!" I warn, unsure of where this confident voice is coming from, though I'm half scared to death. I've never had a life and death situation thrust so quickly upon me before.

Nott does as I say, shaking anxiously as he places Malfoy softly on the marble floor.

"I dunno what spell I could use, and – and, you were just here, and I'm sorry to drag you into this when it's not your fault, I just didn't know what to do- "

'It's fine!" I almost shout. His incessant jabbering isn't helping me think.

But I know what I have to do. I'm never going to hear the end of it.

I kneel onto the floor, the coldness freezing my bare calves. Inhaling deeply in preparation, I sidle up next to Malfoy and run a hand along his chest to find his solar plexus. Next I grab his wrist, noticing his Dark Mark, but I push that aside for now; he still has a faint pulse!

'What're you-" Ron begins outraged, but Harry puts a hand out and a finger to his lips to shut him up.

"I'm performing CPR – it's what Muggles do when people become fatally unconscious." I say midly, while my insides scream. Ron looks confused but Harry nods with a grimace. Nott still looks horror-struck. Thank god I took the Bronze Medallion swimming course, otherwise I wouldn't feel confident enough to do this.

"He still has a pulse, so if I can just do this properly.."

I move my fingers 2 inches up on his chest and I start pumping into his body, trying desperately to revive him. After 20 compressions, my hands shake as I realize it's not going to be that simple. Hesitantly, I open up his mouth cupping it with one hand. Taking a long breath, I put my mouth on his, and inhale air into his astonishingly still warm mouth.

I hear Ron make a strangled noise, but Nott shushes him.

When I return upright I pump again, and again, and again.

After about 3 sessions of breathing and inhaling I think it's a lost cause, he hasn't moved an inch; I sit back on my knees and put my hands on my face, the intensity of the situation getting to me. I feel tears start rolling down my cheeks in frustration and failure and Harry's hand on my shoulder, squeezing it.

"_Granger?"_

I open my eyes wide, hear Nott give a little yelp, and give my attention back to the form in front of me.

He's _alive._

Holding out a pale hand as he awakens.  
_Reaching out for reassurance he's not dead._

Carefully, I move a bit towards him, worried that by touching him he'll somehow become lifeless once again and grasp his hand. He closes his feebly over mine, and I smile despite myself, relief washing over me. I give a watery chuckle in disbelief.

I look at him, and his silver eyes are full of wonder and confusion; a much better look than callousness. His hair is all mussed in front of his forehead and suddenly he shivers violently.

"Oh god, we have to get you to the Hospital!" I say, and I feel an abrupt throwback to third year saying such similar words to Hagrid when he was slashed by Buckbeak.

"Yes, yes!" Nott says, sinking to the ground in incredulity that it worked. "_Yes."_

Malfoy turns to move suddenly. All 4 of us are leaning in to give the cursory 'careful!', but none make it in time.

We don't finish our sentence because as the blond boy turns onto his side, his towel slips off gracefully, revealing _everything_ he has to offer.

While all the boys do their normal reaction and squeak in terror of seeing another guys manhood then covering their faces, I am stupid enough to stare straight at it. Unable to look away.

_Oh Merlin._


	10. The Assignment

**_These lazy clothes are hanging from my lazy body.  
I haven't eaten since I left here.  
Look like half a man; A beat up little boy._**

And all I really need is everything or nothing.  
And all I really need is a girl that's never leaving.  
And the drug that keeps relieving this pain inside of me.  
- Anorexic Love Song, Jack's Mannequin

* * *

I cannot _believe_ the Golden Trio saw my dick.

I cannot _believe_ that I would have had such a bad nightmare that I'd drown in a bathtub; pathetic. It's absolutely pathetic!

More importantly, I don't understand why I had such a vivid dream about Granger. Why I had the sudden urge to rescue her so badly; I've never thought of that night before yesterday. I've been trying to block it permanently from my mind. I don't have a hero complex like Potter, nor do I hold empathy towards anyone. I never have, and I do not see why I should start feeling it now.

I'm not even sure what happened, nobody's told me a thing; just carried me in silence to the Hospital Wing while I groggily asked questions, though they ignored me.

So now I lie here in anxious wait for somebody to come and save me from my ignorance of the events. Although I'm not sure if I want to know the full details. And I hope they're nothing bad.

But that's wishful thinking, because for sure it's going to shock me.

All I remember is waking up with _her_ kneeling next to me, holding my hand. The surprising thing was that I was gripping hers right back. Perhaps she was doing some healing magic? I don't know….all I _do_ know is that someone from the stupid 3 saved me. Nott was hysterical, he couldn't have done it. It's not like it would've been his fault if I _had _died, if he hadn't joined me in the first place I'd probably be gone.

Great, now I owe my life to Nott _and_ those 3 don't I?  
What if they tell everyone they saved the helpless Slytherin traitor, and become the heroes _again_?

Huh…..I think I'd rather be buried in the ground.

**_{}_**

"Malfoy."

"_Malfoy!"_ I open my sleepy eyes and see Nott sitting on a chair next to my cot. He's holding a tray with pumpkin juice on it and a cutlet of roasted chicken. _Oh no._

"What's the big idea? Waking me up like that, you imbecile." I grumble as I stretch.

"Well you were talking in your sleep….and you sounded like you were having a nightmare, so I woke you up..?" I blush slightly mortified at this new information.

"What exactly…did I say?"

"Uh, I dunno," he looks to the floor. "You were mumbling something about not hurting someone. You said 'no, stop' a few times…that's pretty much it."

"Oh," I say softly. I _would_ have that dream again.

"Anyways, I brought you some food, it looks like you could use some," and with that he plunks the dish on my chest; immediately I grimace at it. And then my stomach growls as I smell the delicious scent wafting up at my nose.

He's looking at me expectantly, and I know I'm going to have to try and eat this.

The thing is that it's not that I don't want to eat, of course I do. But it's as if there's a man in my stomach holding a rope that closes my esophagus up every time I put a fork in my mouth. The man is never happy when I eat, so he punishes me by pulling the rope and laughing at my misfortune when I choke the food back up. He won't let me be satisfied. Maybe if I feed him the right food he'll let me enjoy a meal for once. I've been trying everything for the past few weeks to no avail

_A man in my stomach_? What am I talking about.

I think I'm going crazy.

I grab the knife tentatively, and poke at the chicken, scrutinizing it.

"So about what happened yesterday…." I murmur, trying to distract our attention from my apparent eating disorder and back onto last night.

Nott looks uncomfortable, but he starts talking, probably knowing that I'll be persistent if he doesn't tell me.

"Uhm, well, you drowned basically in the tub."

"Yes, I'm _aware_," I flash angrily, still embarrassed about it. "But how am I not dead? What happened? All I remember is waking up in silence, zipped lips on all your faces."

"Err, I really don't know if you want to know what happened, Malfoy. I think you may get mad." This _is_ serious, he's dropped the whole 'Drakes' thing.

"Just tell me, Nott. Do you really think I'm going to go ask _Potter_ or _Granger_ what happened? No, obviously not. Besides, you didn't even save me so it's not humiliating for you, is it?"

His eyes ablaze with hurt, and I realize what I've just said.  
"I'm sorry okay! I didn't know what to do! It was really scary and, and -"

"Look, I wasn't talking about you not trying to help, I meant you didn't ultimately fix whatever was wrong with me," I explain exasperated. "I appreciate you not leaving me in the bathroom to die, now please just tell me what happened!"

This seems to have done the trick, and he seems calmer.  
He takes a deep breath, going over the story he wants to tell in his mind.

As he sits in silence, I look outside the window nearest me and see the sun-setting gracefully; the remaining light just snags at my bed. The moon is halfway into the sky. I don't think I' going to be able to sleep anymore today, but it's only dinner time; that means it's going to be a long night.

"Okay," Nott sighs. I avert my attention back to him. "I was waiting for you for about 20 minutes, and then I decided to see if you were almost finished because an hour long bath is ridiculous. So I knocked on the door, got no reply. I assumed the worse and opened the bathroom with _Alohamora. _You were fully immersed underwater so I panicked and pulled you up, but you weren't breathing so I just er, grabbed you and put a towel around you. Sorry about that by the way…." He trails off and I grimace.

"Whatever. I would rather live than have those three and yourself see me naked…_I think…._"

"I swear I didn't look!" he says holding his hands up, and I smirk. "I just figured it would be faster to just cover you in a towel than dress you, and I was freaking out mate."

"Honestly, I believe you. Continue." I say, fighting now an urge to laugh. He's so obviously not gay, he drools over anything that has breasts and thighs.

"Sorry, okay, so yeah. I picked you up, and then ran down the hall, but seeing as it was still dinner, nobody was there. And then all of a sudden I heard footsteps and it just so happened to be those 3. And I know you hate them, but they were willing to help" I stare at him sceptically. "Er, at least, Hermione Granger was." He corrects.

Oh _was she_?

"W-what happened then?" I stutter, thinking maybe Nott was right and I didn't want to know if it concerns Granger.

"She told me to lay you down on the floor," _Wasn't_ _that was nice of her?_

"And then she was searching for a pulse, got on her knees and ran a hand along your chest," _What_! ?

My heart jumps into overdrive, palms becoming sweaty at the thought of such intimacy.

"And she – she, performed this Muggle thing called CPR…" Again, _what?_

"And what pray tell is _CPR?_" I demand, hoping it's not as foreign and weird as it sounds.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure what it stands for, but she was pushing in your chest a lot, compressions I think she told me after, and then she erm, blew air into you..."

_Blew air into me? _"Do you mean…" I start, my breathing hitched.

"Yeah mate, she basically kissed you…in a non-romantic way." He blurts out. His eyebrows rise waiting for my reaction as I feel my face fill with blank shock.

I don't even know what to think….this is absolute rubbish!  
How could she – why would she?  
AGH!

"She put her mouth on mine?" I say almost incredulous rather than outraged (how I _should_ feel). 'That's ridiculous! She hates me, and I've never been kind to her, why would she do that?"

"She's a decent person, and you're not?" he suggests stupidly.

I sneer at him; this isn't a time for insults on my flaws! 'Well that's _obvious_ isn't it? Clearly only a member from the _fabulous _Harry Potter entourage would be willing to touch the disgusting mouth of Draco Malfoy," I hiss, now angry.

"It was rather nice of her if you ask me, the others didn't want to and besides the fact they're guys, they have good reason not to. _I_ wouldn't have done it. No offense," he adds as I roll my eyes.

"Well great, juuuust spectacular. Now I owe my life to her. Stupid, mudbloody…gah! Is there anything _else_ I should know?"

He hesitates for a minute. "Yeah, you sort of, mumbled her name."

_"I did what!_" I whisper, my voice hollow.  
Oh hell, no.  
Not on my life did I say it. Just kill me now, murder me, suffocate me.

I'm certainly _not _telling Nott about my dream. Did I recall it as I woke up?  
Will she ask me about it at a later date?

"Then you held your hand out, groping for someone, but it was directed at her…"

This just gets better and better. Maybe I had that dream again…. Maybe I actually saved her that time, by reaching out my hand in real life, I wanted to help her off the floor inside my head….  
No, no, no. Definitely not. But, what if…?

"What did she do?" I feel like a child asking all these simple questions, but I need to know.

"She grabbed it, actually. After, I heard her say to Weasley that she took it because she thought maybe you were searching for reassurance that you weren't dead. It seemed like a bull explanation, but he was kinda angry, I wouldn't worry about it."

I won't, anything to rile up that idiot.  
So she grabbed it _back_? Well _her_ reasoning is sound…but I don't believe that that was truly my reason for wanting to hold her hand. I`m afraid of investigating it further.

What the fuck is going on here? Why are all these emotions circling me _now._ They`ve left me alone for so long because I've blocked them out, and I intend them to stay barricaded.

"Mr. Malfoy!" I turn jerkily at my name being called, and see Professor McGonagall followed by Madam Pomfrey, both looking stern.

Great.

They walk up towards me and McGonagall begins to speak. "My boy, you've been in the hospital wing far too many times for school to have been in session for only a month. Now Madam Pomfrey informs me you drowned, am I correct?"

I nod, mortified that she's taken it upon herself to be here and wishing Nott would leave.

"What happened?"

"Er, I don't really…"

"He fell asleep in the tub and I got worried after a while so I went in and then I picked him up, and I didn't know what to do because he wasn't breathing so I took him to find someone who did know what to do and then I found Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley and then they helped me and then, and then-"

'Slow down, Nott!" McGonagall commands astonished at the boy who talks a mile a minute. "You say _Potter_ helped you?"

"Well, apparently it was just Grang- I mean Hermione," I tell her, irrationally loathing everyone involved.

"What did she do?"  
_More than enough._

"CPR," breathes Nott, shaking. I guess he's just scared he'll get in trouble and that's why he won't shut up.

"CPR? _Quite brilliant if she was just in a hallway. Maybe we should think of teaching that to everyone here_," she says more to herself than us. "I trust you've said thank you?" she asks me, giving me a knowing look. As in, she knows I _never_ say thank you. Which isn't true, I do if it's much deserved; Nott stopping Finnigan from punching me for example.

Saving my life certainly qualifies a 'thanks'.  
_Sigh….._

"I just woke up now, actually. I vaguely remember being awake on the way here yesterday but nobody really…talked about it."

'Well the next time you see Miss Granger, you know what to do. And take my word for it; I _will_ ask her if you've said it." She bores her at eyes into me, and I stare right back. Like I'm afraid of her. I haven't been a prick all year, she can't say a damn thing.

"For the time being, just rest. I expect to see you in class tomorrow my boy, you can't miss our first history lesson can you? Now eat." She finishes with a gleam of a smile, and I throw her a confused look. She simply nods and beckons to Nott, who stands to attention. With a nervous wave in my direction, together they exit.

I look at the forgotten chicken on my lap, now cold. I let out a long breath and Madam Pomfrey circles around me, gauging my reactions like a hawk. "Want me to heat that up for you, dear?" She asks pointing her wand at the plate.

"I'm not hungry," I state, looking at it sadly.

"You need to eat Mr. Malfoy." She proclaims, and flicks her wand at it. It enflames for a second then it extinguishes as steam rises from it. "You are white, your immune defences are down. And you're just skin and bone anyways. What have you been eating regularly?"

I falter, not wanting to tell her anything. "_Well_?"

"Nothing," I finally say.

Her eyes grow wide, scrunching them, hoping that there's more to it.  
"'Nothing'? How often do you eat a day?"

I don't like these questions.

"I haven't really managed to eat much at all, I can't remember the last time…"

She stares at me reproachfully. "How long has this been going on for?"

"I'd say...a couple months now." She tsks, in taking a deep breath.

"_Months_? Good gracious. Have you any idea how dangerous that is for your health, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No, hadn't a clue," I reply sarcastically. She gives me a look.

"You might have clinical anorexia."

I stare at her sideways. What the hell is _that_?

"It's when the person afflicted either chooses or simply does not eat anything to starve themselves. An eating disorder," and I feel my skin flush in humiliation. How weak am I? "On the opposite side, you could binge on food and overeats. Usually it happens to people with a poor body image and low self esteem. Generally it happens to girls who think they're 'too fat', or else they're very upset and instead of exercising and changing their diet they simply don't eat. But for you, it's got to be punishment. You are punishing yourself, you don't think you deserve to eat, do you? Have you been feeling down about yourself lately? Feeling depressed about anything?"

Yes I've been feeling down, but not because I'm too fat.  
And I'm not telling her about my depression, I'm not telling anyone.

"Not really." I lie. "I've just had no appetite…I want to eat, I'm just not hungry; ever."

"Hmm," she clicks, unconvinced. "For right now, drink this." She mutters an incantation and points her wand at the pumpkin juice cup, which empties and refills with a pinkish-red, thick liquid. I pick it up, and examine it. It smells like strawberries.

"It's a concoction from the Muggle world. It's filled with fruits, protein and lots of vitamins and minerals. Drink it up." She points at the cup and then up at me. Says she'll be back later and hurries out of the room, apparently having work to do, leaving me to my own devices.

This will fix everything, clearly.  
I have a _disorder,_ as well as an apparent fixation on a mudblood, not to mention I owe my life to said girl.

My life is so _peachy._ This is _bound_ to do the trick.

I pick up the glass regretfully, determined to try and rid of at least one affliction I have and raise the glass; _cheers!_

I stick the cup to my lips, and in one long gulp, I drain it. I cough for a moment, immediately my insides clench, the man protesting _very hard. _But I will not vomit, make myself keep it down by breathing in and out.

It was not bad, actually; too sweet but at least it tasted alright. My stomach feels better anyways. I place the tray on my bedside table, satisfied.

Laying back on the bed, I close my eyes, just wanting to relax. The feeling won't come, so I grab a book from my bedside table. I open up the history book: _From Medieval to Modern: Changes in Classical Music. _Tomorrow's class is going to be an adventure to say the least, may as well get ahead if I can't fucking rest.

* * *

I still can't believe I saw him _naked._  
That's an image that will forever be burned into my mind.

Harry and Ron have avoided the subject for the past day. We all agreed that that entire event should just be forgotten. But I can't stop thinking about the whole encounter.

I mean, at least for once _he_ is being humiliated. I know it's petty, but besides the ferret incident in 4th year it's always me, Ron or another poor soul on the other end of the stick.

My brain flashbacks to when he hexed me so my teeth grew to be the size of a walrus. Then to when he constantly ignored me and called me a Mudblood. I always hated how he refused to acknowledge my insults even though they clearly affected him. Rage boils inside of me, and I can't believe I ever let the thought cross my mind that he's attractive. He'll never be, the way he treats people. Just because he's changed now doesn't excuse his past behaviour; he's never even apologized to me or anyone.

Thoroughly stewed in my upset, I grab my book bag and shake my head.

Better go to class, I just hope he isn't there. Only, he's _always_ there. Out of my 9 classes, he's in 7 of them. Music, History, Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms. How he manages to stay so smart and get into those classes, I'll never be sure; he always goofs off. Well he used to anyways.

Ugh, I'm sick of thinking about him!

I walk down the staircase quickly and knock into Lavender, who sniffs and bumps me out of the way.

_Nice seeing you too._

I see Ron sitting by the fireplace, his face scrunched in concentration as he looks at an issue of _Quidditch Quarterly._ I smile at the sight, hoping for some semblance of normalcy in talking to him.

"Ron," I call, and I hear him give a little 'Wha..?'. He looks up and gives me a warm grin when he spots me. I walk over to him and plop down next to him on the couch.

"How are you, Hermione?' he asks affectionately, and gives me a quick hug.

"Oh, fine." I say returning the embrace. "Somewhat excited for my classes today, although now that I've seen the light on Professor Binns, plus I basically have history twice starting now, I don't think I'll make it through his class."

"Well that's kind of a given," he laughs.

"How about you, Ron?"

"Eh, I'll survive. I have transfiguration, so hopefully I'm not terrible at it like last week. I turned a desk into a lion by accident; poor McGonagall nearly had a heart attack."

We both have a giggle at that; I'm happy to see him smiling, it's so nice to not have to side step around our words. We've gotten more comfortable around each other, and I think perhaps he's okay with -

"So are you still going on that date with Dean?" he asks casually.

Well I retract that last statement. His happiness won't last long.

"Yes, I am," I say awkwardly. "We've planned to go to Hogsmeade for our first, I mean, for our date," I correct myself. Who knows, it _could_ be the first and last date.

"_What?_" he exclaims wounded. "But aren't you coming to my birthday lunch thing?"

"Of course! We were, at least I was, going to buy you a gift and then come join you."

"Lovely, so the guy after my ex-girlfriend is coming to lunch with us. Splendid." He crosses his arms and shifts away from me.

"Ron!" I cry, hurt. Why is he so fragile? "I told you that I'm not ready to try us again. You know the reasons why. It's not like I'm getting _married _to him. I'm just er- testing the waters. Yes."

"Testing the _waters_?" Ron repeats scathingly. "Well make sure you don't drown in the ocean that Dean apparently is; I'm just a wading pool compared to him, aren't I?" He says harshly.

"Ron," It's apparently all I can say at the moment. "That isn't it – I'm only 18 years old and I don't want to be attached to someone exclusively, alright? People break up all the time. It doesn't mean I love you any less, it means that I don't ever want that love to die, and being with you when I don't want to be will just ruin it faster. You're being a baby," I huff.

"A baby, am I? That's all I ever am to you, right? An immature little baby. Miss Perfect Grades needs a _perfect _boyfriend."

"This isn't about you being better or worse than any other boy, although right now you are at the bottom of the barrel!" I seethe, tired of his jealousy.  
This is just a ridiculous, there is no logical reason he should get so mad when he didn't bother to try and contact me again through the summer months. And I want to tell him this, but I'm too overwhelmed by his inferiority complex to even say anything.

"Yeah, I'm just scum. Well maybe if I offend you so badly, I'll take my presence elsewhere."

He gets up and storms out of the room and up to his dorm, as I bury my face in my hands. _ARGH._

This isn't how it was supposed to be. This year was supposed to be _fun.  
_No more press, no more crazy, I was hoping it would be back to normal as much as it could be._  
_But it's been full of ups and downs and confusing emotions, and I just don't know what action to take.

Defeated, I decide I'm just going to go to class. I stand up and start to walk towards the Fat Lady, but I stop when I hear 'Hermione!' across the room behind me.

It's Harry!

"Are you alright?" he asks grabbing my elbow to stop me. "Ron is having a fit upstairs, and I figured he probably said some not so nice things to you. I know how he is."

Oh, what a sweetheart.

"Yes, I'm okay. I just can't stand his envy over me. If he likes me so much why did he ignore me all summer?" I huff.

"Well, I can't put any words in his mouth, but all Dean can talk about is you, so I wouldn't say that," Harry grins with that spark in his eye. "It's been pissing him off. Anything I should know about?" he teases, pushing me lightly.

I manage a small smile, and shake my head. "No. Well not _yet_ anyways. I just hope Ron can get over it so I'm still welcome at his party. It's only a week away. And I'd love for him to have a great time."

"He'll be fine, he's just frustrated about you refusing to go out again, but acting like a child is obviously one of those reasons. Er, don't tell him I said that."

"I won't" I say chuckling. Then my face drops. "You know, I wish we could sit down like adults and speak about what happened, but I just – it's _so _uncomfortable, and oh god, he probably hates me!"

"Of course he doesn't hate you, Hermione.' Harry reassures me, though I don't feel better. "Don't be sily, why else would he be so upset if he didn't care for you? He'll come around, you'll see. And anyways, there's always bribery. If you buy him something amazing that he can't refuse, I'm sure he'll 'forgive' you. At least for the time being."

"I suppose. God, I feel loads better, Thank you Harry," I say and then hug him tight. He's surprised, but then wraps his arms around me and squeezes me lightly.

"No problem," he responds as he lets go.

"Oh dear, it's almost 10:30, I must be off to music. Bye!"

"Don't tell Ginny about what he said, please. She'll pop his head off," he calls.

"Promise!" I wave running to the portrait hole. He returns it, shaking his head amused as he disappears from view.

I gambol up the staircase steps, wanting to get a good seat. On the 4th floor, I'm nearly out of breath, I feel so out of shape. I think perhaps I`ll start going for walks on weekend in between studying…

As I round the corner to the last set of stairs on the 7th floor I bump into someone, "Oof!" I appear to have knocked them down, and I drop my books discomfited to go help them up.

"I'm so sorry! I really didn't see you and-"

_Oh no._

As I notice the green Slytherin robes and pale blonde hair, I cross my finger even though I _know_ it's him.

"You senseless pea brain, why don't you watch where you- oh, _M_erlin."

As Malfoy stands up and brushes himself off, his cheeks turn pink as his expression goes from pissed off to embarrassed. His voice is small, a first when speaking to me.

My back stiffens, and I know we're both thinking of 2 days ago. I feel slightly bad for not visiting him in the hospital, but then again, he doesn't really deserve company. _And probably doesn't want it come to think of it._

I wonder if he knows what really happened, but his body language, closed and tense, suggests that he does.

I bend down to pick up my leather bag, and take a step forwards wanting to get away when he says, "WAIT."

I freeze at how loud he is, slowly turn around and say; "Y-yes?"  
_Why am I so tongue tied around him?_

He looks uneasy and then mumbles. "_I may as well get this over sooner than later._"

What's '_this_'? Now I'm nervous.

"Look Granger, I know it was you who revived me 2 days ago." I hold my breath, now feeling extremely awkward. "I just want to say….thank you. Thanks for letting me not die. I appreciate it, I guess is what I'm trying to say."

"Oh."  
I'm shocked. I didn't know thank you was a phrase he actually knows.

"Don't worry, I haven't switched bodies or something; McGonagall wanted me to let you know. Normally I wouldn't follow her instruction, but there are times when people deserve to be thanked and I think saving someone's life can be one of those times." _Oh._

"It's fine…I'm sure anyone would've done it. You're welcome..." is all I say.

"Actually, anyone would _not_ have done it. I know Weasley and Potter wouldn't, Nott wouldn't have either. It just so happens that you don't have the conscious of dragon dung. So thanks – that's the last time I'll say it." And with that he starts walking up the stairs, spinning around in a frenzy.

Reluctantly I follow suit, but keep my distance.  
That actually seemed sincere; even if McGonagall made sure he told me so. And here I was thinking he was a hapless git.

As I get to the classroom, I'm still confused about the altercation. Almost everyone is already there. I see Dean waving me over when I walk in, and I go sit next to him. As I push out my seat to sit on it I decide I'll try putting Dean on the spot. And get Malfoy from my mind_._

"I hear I'm all you can talk about," I say lightly, getting out my books.

His face slackens, and I try not to smirk at his reaction.  
'What? Who said that?" Dean laughs nervously.

"Oh just a little Gryffindor seeker," I smile.

"Blimey, Harry said that? Well if it's coming from the Chosen One, It must be true then," he grins cheekily and I chuckle. "So about Hogsmeade," he then turns, facing me to try and smooth over the conversation.

"Ahem." From the front I center my attention on McGonagall, glancing at Dean apologetically as she clears her throat, indicating the lesson is about to start.

I take out a quill, ink, and a pad of parchment and he swings his legs back to face his desk.

She spends the next hour talking about Medieval music; discussing Gregorian chant, and how Muggles first started making music with absolutely no structure, mainly for the church. It`s all very fascinating, and I`m scribbling furiously trying to copy everything from her slides down, as well as what she`s saying. By the end of the lesson, my wrist is cramped but I'm happy with my notes.

"Blimey, Hermione. How did you do all that? I've barely got two pages. And all these years I'd begged Seamus for his notes. Should've asked you!"

I turn to Dean, who whispered this to me, and thank him, pleased.  
He winks causing a flush to bathe me.

"Now before you all exit, I must inform you of your summative assignment. In other words, your major assessment mark for the term, worth 40%."

_Forty percent! ?_

I avert my gaze to the teacher who must be mad to cast such huge amounts of grades on one project. Everyone is shushed, apparently thinking the same thing I am. Frightened looks on all of them.

"In partners, you will pick one artist or group, and discuss his ,their, or her life. You will determine the importance of their contributions to the music world in context of this course, and to the time period in which they lived. You will analyze some of their pieces, tearing apart their style and use of melody, rhythm and harmony and compare them to other composer in their relative periods of music. Lastly, you will pick one piece to perform in front of me. The full details will be released next week when you get into your groups."

_Partners?  
_My head reels at the thought. I am _not _good in that kind of situation. I turn into a stroppy, bossy cow.

"Can we pick our partners?" Lavender asks hopefully, looking at Parvati.

_Please! PLEASE!_

"No, I will be randomly selecting them."  
It's like a guillotine slicing my head off, and everyone groans.

I can't pick my partner and I wonder the horror of the possibility that I may be stuck with someone like Lavender, who isn't the brightest star in the sky, I think hyperventilating. Worse, what if my partner complains about me? What if they hate me? Oh _god._

"Don't look so sad, it will be fun," she remarks dryly. "You can pick something from today if you'd like, even a Muggle band."

This sets the class atwitter. And it sparks my interest.  
It would actually be really fun to do a band I like, such as Muse or Queen. I must admit I'm less partial to classical composers, thought their work is amazing.

"You can use the 2 week Easter break and long weekends coming up to work on them. We can discuss it later. Don't fret, see you all next week!"

Everyone erupts into excited banter. Seamus proclaims that whoever he gets should do either Flogging Molly or Dragon Fodder, the Wizard band, with him.

Lavender wants to do Ayla Scissorsnap, a Wizard solo artist that is reminiscent of Lady Gaga, and I hear Ernie Macmillan talking about his fascination with Celestina Warbeck.

"Hey, maybe we'll end up together," Dean chats with me, all flirty, bumping into me on the way out the door. "And then we get to spend a whole 2 weeks together."

"If we do, can we pick Muse?" I ask, half joking.  
Wonder if he knows who they are, he's muggle born as well.

"Hmm, not my taste, I'm more of a classic rock kinda guy," His eyes brighten up.

"Really?" I ask. "Queen then?"

"Oh yes, I love them," he grins.

Maybe I did make a good choice with this one.


	11. Rachel & Dean

_**Time every journey to bump into you, accidentally,**_  
_**I charm you and tell you of the boys I hate,**_  
_**All the girls I hate, All the words I hate,**_  
_**All the clothes I hate, how I'll never be anything I hate.**__**  
**_

_**Find me and follow me through corridors, refectories, and files**_  
_**You must follow, leave this academic factory.**_

_**- Dark of the Matinée, **_**Franz Ferdinand**

* * *

"Ooh, wear the purple top, it'll match more with your hair."

"With her _hair?_ Please. I think you should wear those tights and dress like you were going to."

"She wasn't '_going to'_, you told her she should wear it!"

I must say, I never thought I'd be fussed over when it came to hair and makeup. Lavender and Parvati are in the midst of putting a million things on my face while trying to tell me what outfit I should adorn.

Personally, I think Lavender is just happy I'm going on a date with Dean rather than Ron, so she wants me to look as good as I can; then I'll stay away from 'her' man. Not like she needs me to stay away from him, he still is sore about last week's conversation. But I'm glad Lavender isn't mad at me anymore. I'm grateful for the tips; I hardly ever dress up, let alone go on dates.

"Well I think she should just wear what she likes," Fay says uninterested from her bed. She's reading a book titled _Magical Creatures in the Swamps of England _by Cordelia Fitzgerald, and I don't think was planning to go to Hogsmeade at all. She's kind of a loner, poor girl.

"Oh, please. What do _you_ know?" Offended by Lavender's comment, Fay raises her book to her nose and 'hmmphs.'

"Mind if I look through your stuff, Hermione?" Parvati asks, while Lavender shoves her over and starts rifling through my Muggle shirts, skirts and skivvies.

"Um, I guess I have no choice." I say half-smiling. I don't quite enjoy the idea of them looking through my personal things. But I suppose since they're trying to help, I can't complain.

I pick up the small hand mirror from my dresser and examine my reflection. My hair is blown out straight (they brought out the big guns: Sleekeazy's Hair Potion) and looks shiny for once. I have no idea what they did, but now I somehow have nice side bangs; my strands aren't stuck to the top of my head to make a triangle formation anymore.

"Oh My God! You have to wear this!" I turn to look at Lavender and she's holding up a tight black shirt I got from my cousin Andrea at Christmas. She works for British Vogue and is always sending me these really expensive pieces that are lovely, but I can't pull them off. Wishful thinking that I always bring them along.

"Er, maybe. I don't really know if it suits me."

"You'll look so hot though! Dean won't be able to keep his hands off you," she says with a wink and I blush.

"You think so?"

"Definitely! It would drive any man in his right mind crazy."

"Well, Dean`s liked me so far without me wearing anything special. I never really thought him to be _shallow_."

"He isn't. But all boys like girls who _look_ like girls. Think about it; he went out with _Ginny._ She's beautiful, right?"

"Well, yes but -"

"No buts, Hermione, she is one of the best looking girls in the entire school," she frowns as she says this. "Even some of the Slytherin boys think so."

"Really?" I question surprised. The Slytherin's are notorious for their ridiculously high standards.

"Uh, duuh. I've totally seen Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy check her out at one time or another, though they tried to slyly hide it. But I see everything," she winks again.

_Malfoy thinks she's beautiful?_ _Well if she fits into _his_ standards, I certainly never will._  
But it's not his standards I should care about.

"Speaking of which, isn't Malfoy totally gorgeous this year?" Lavender muses.

Fay and Pavarti both look at her with raised eyebrows. I look away, trying not to blush having just thought about him.

"I mean, now that he's dropped the whole 'I'm a pure-blooded, richer than you, bully' act. _And_ stopped putting a million gallons of gel into his hair. Not like i'd date him, _Merlin. _But come on, you'd have to be blind not to notice how his face has matured; and his voice is to die for." She looks at me for a morsel of an opinion.

"Hadn't noticed," is all I lie.

"Well, you're all _crazy_. _Sigh,_ if only I was in Slytherin for a week. I heard Pansy Parkinson bragging about what a great snogger he was in 6th year in the bathroom and all these things they'd _done_ together. Though she might've been just exaggerating…"

"Anyways," I say trying to drag the conversation away from _him._ "We were talking about Dean. _And I thought you fancied Ron_," I say under my breath, though she snaps her head around and I know she's heard me. Oops.

"Yes, _Dean" _She says crossly. "He is very attractive, and Ginny is very attractive. They went out. They matched well together. I mean, when you think of all that, don't you want to level the playing field? _And I do not still fancy Ron,_" she spits only to me.

"But Ginny is my friend, my best friend probably." I ignore her Ron comment. "I know she's beautiful, but she's also very smart. Besides, she has Harry, and I'm not jealous of her, I'm happy for her," I say, defending myself and Ginny, a little miffed that Lavender has the nerve to hint that I'm not as pretty as Ginny, even though I know it's true.

"Even so, you're not doing anyone any favours by just wearing a pair of corduroys and at shirt." She says pointing at a pile of clothes I'd planned to wear yesterday.

"Hey! How about if you wear this overtop?" Parvati cuts in, breaking some tension. "I mean, you'll be wearing a coat for most of the day anyways, but the short period of time you expose Dean to seeing just a hint of it will be a big tease, haha." I look to Pavarti and she's holding up a white tunic without sleeves. It's very sheer so it's almost see-through, and I suppose it would look 'sexy' like I was supposed to be going for. But I'm not used to looking like that, thinking of myself that way.

"Oh! And these trousers. Goodness, girl, where do you get all this stuff, it's amazing!" Lavender is holding up a pair of shiny black jeans, and my breath falters for a minute. I've worn those pants once, and only once. I went on a date with Ron for dinner; he said it was his favourite thing that I've ever dressed in. I haven't found the heart to wear them again after we broke up.

"My cousin works for a Muggle fashion magazine. She sends a lot of excess clothes from the photoshoots to me because she knows I hardly ever go shopping." The 2 gasp at my last statement.

"Clearly that's why you don't have much of a fashion sense then; from lack of experience!" Lavender comments. Ouch. "You have to wear this! With that tan trench coat you brought. You'll look awesome!"

"I guess so…the shirts are lovely, but I'm not so sure about the pants," I trail off.

"And why not? You have decent legs; they'll be a nice switch from long skirts every day won't they?" _Always persistent isn't she?_

"I suppose. It's just that…"

"Yes?"

"It's just that…Ron liked those pants, and I'm going out to lunch with him and Harry today with Dean. He's already upset that I'm taking Dean, I don't know if it's such a good idea…"

"Well you aren`t going out with Ron, _are you? _!" Lavender shouts shrilly.

Everyone freezes, hoping the tick in her time bomb won't go off. Parvati gives me the look that says to just drop it, and Fay is in disbelief at such a display of catty behaviour.

"It doesn't matter how much he liked them! Don't flatter yourself into thinking that he's so jealous of you and Dean that he's going to go bonkers seeing you with 'pants he likes'," she talks at me using obnoxious air quotes. "More like he's going to be upset because you spent way more effort looking nice for Dean than you ever did for him. Now put them on so we can see!"

And with her little speech at an end she snatches the shirts from Pavarti's grasp and flings them into my arms. Defeated, I undress, numb from the sting of her words, but thinking how true in fact those words are. And that was her plan wasn't it? Offer to help me look better than I normally do and make Ron hate me even more.

She really _is _mad.

Self-consciously, I turn around as I pull off the shirt I was wearing over my head; I don' think I can wear a bra with this. I unfasten the clasps on the simple pink one I have on and neatly set it on my bed, very aware that 3 girls are behind me and I'm bare-chested. I put on the corset backwards in order to zip up the closure and turn it to the front. Hastily, I shove on the tank top and when the shirt falls to my waist I whip off my pajama bottoms and get into the pants. They glide up my legs and are super tight. Most of these clothes were made for someone who is size double 00, I hope I can still walk around all day without them freezing to my body.

I turn around and smooth out the clothes; "What do you think…?"

"Gorgeous! Absolutely stunning!" Parvati says cheerily, albeit a tad bit fake. "Now come here so I can finish applying your foundation."

Ugh, foundation is the worst. I have no issue with eye make-up because usually it's light, but I always feel as if I'm wearing a gloopy mask whenever I put on anything that is hiding my natural skin. Before Parvati can do anything however, her best friend butts in once again.

"Yes, you do look rather good." Lavender notes as she walks right in front of me to examine my appearance, a finger on her chin. She is much taller than me and I feel very small and overwhelmed by her proximity.

"Here just do this –" and without even consulting my comfort level, she grabs the ends of my shirt and tucks them into my pants, making me feel slightly violated she just touched very near my pelvic bone. Then she pushes me on the bed and grabs an eyeliner, getting to work.

"Now close your eyes sweetie! I'm going to finish what we started." She cackles rather manically and quite harshly sticks the end of the eyeliner brush onto my lid.

{}

"Hermione! You look fabulous!"

I was hoping to make a subtle entrance, but I guess that's out of the question.

Ginny, who gave me the compliment, runs over and looks at me with wide eyes, smiling. A few people's heads turn and follow her to where I stand, so I remain in the middle of the staircase. I'm wearing my coat now, at least. I suddenly regret very much being a coward and not standing up to Lavender to just wear something nice with minimal make up.

"Thanks, Ginny, as do you." I say quietly, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

"It's like the Yule Ball all over again" she teases dreamily and I let slip a grin. "Honestly, Dean is going to flip!" I'm so glad she is not one of those girls (like _someone _I know) who doesn't dwell on past relationships.

"Do you think it's too much? Lavender sort of, made a big deal about me looking nice for Dean. I don't think she's quite over Ron, and wants him to loathe me by making a fuss over this date. Not that it matters; he hates me anyways, so it shouldn't even bother him." I sniff saying simply, when it truthfully really does bother _me_ that I can't have a normal relationship with one of my best friends.

"He can be such a weasel-y little arse sometimes. Doesn't even realize that he's hurting other people by acting like such a git," Ginny says fiery. "As for Lavender, if she bothers you again I can threaten her if you want? Maybe a nice bat bogey hex?" she asks impishly.

I laugh. "No, no, it's fine, just annoying really. I want to patch this whole ordeal with Ron. Like I said to him last week, it isn't as if I'm marrying Dean; we're going to Hogsmeade. It's hardly even a date considering that I'm having lunch with him, _with_ Ron."

_Why did I invite him to that again? It's too late to cancel now isn't it?_

"Oh, he'll come around; he always does. He's as loyal as a wolf to its pack, he just has a bad temper, as you definitely know_." Oh, you have no idea_. "Now come on! Dean is waiting down there with Harry, and acting all anxious and adorable. That's one of the good things with Dean; even though we didn't work out, I always liked how he continuously looked pleased to see me. And he's just a really good person all around. Oh it will be so exciting if this works out!"  
I love her. She's talking about things I'll like about _her_ ex-boyfriend!

"Ginny," I stop her from pulling my sleeve for a moment. She turns round and stares at me. "Thanks."

Her grin widens, but she says nothing and pulls my hand, dragging me defiantly towards Harry and Dean. Luckily, Ron is nowhere to be seen.

"Wow," I hear Dean mutter under his breath as I edge near him. "You look…."

"Great!" Ginny finishes, and Harry gives a little laugh. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah, sure,_ why not_?" comes a fuming voice from behind us.

We all turn to see Ron with a livid expression on his face coming down from the boys dormitory. He's staring directly at me, his gaze intensifying as my smile fades.

"You look nice," he notes to me in a tone that suggests I should go douse myself in a bucket of fiendfyre.

"Ron, you okay?" Harry asks hesitant as Ron stomps over to us.

"Oh yeah, awesome. Amazing in fact. I just love when my ex-girlfriend and her date cozy up to my sister _and_ best friend behind my back."

_How dare he?_

"Excuse me, Ronald, but am I not your best friend too? Since when have I all of a sudden become your enemy? I've explained to you a million times why I am not interested in trying to get back together with you now, so just drop it. Am I always going to be referred to as your 'ex-girlfriend' and not Hermione? Dean is most certainly your friend too, not just '_my date'_! So it isn't as 'behind your back' as you said."

He wasn't expecting me to put him on the spot like that, for his face looks taken aback.

"Stop being such a _prat_, Ron," Ginny huffs. "Can't we just have a regular happy day without all this 'ex' nonsense? _Please," _she emphasizes.

Ginny crosses her arms and slouches to one side, waiting for a response. Harry stands shock still, while Dean and I look at each other then back to Ron with frowns.

"N-no!" he stutters, and swings his arms down defiantly. "I don't want to act like it's a 'regular, happy' day with _Dean, n_or you!" he points harshly at me, and I flinch. "Especially when it's not!"

The last sentence he says is extremely audible, and most people in the room have stopped to look. Lavender is smiling visibly in the corner, clearly happy at what she's managed to make me look like and thus pissing off Ron. Some of the younger kids are gaping blatantly at us, probably hoping they don't end up in such dramatic situations when they're older.

"Well it _could_ be a good afternoon if you didn't act like such a tosser every waking hour!" Ginny says coldly.

"So I'm a tosser now too? If you all hate me so much then why bother even associating yourselves with me?"

"_Because I'm your sister…_," Ginny grumbles, as Harry steps in;

"You're not a tosser, Ron, you've just been acting really odd lately. Nothing anybody says can seem to make any difference to you; you just stay so angry at everyone."

"Well I've good reason to! Sod all of you, I'm going to just go. See you later, Harry. _Ginevra,"_ he addresses Ginny, who gives him the dirtiest look I think I've ever seen her wear. "And you, Dean."

Dean looks at him head on, and I realize they're exactly the same height. Ron cowers slightly at the lack of intimidation he gives off. "I'd appreciate it if you don't show up later today, I know_she_ invited you."

"Wasn't planning on it after all that rubbish," Dean says coolly, crossing his arms. Ron scowls.

" And I don't need _you_ at my lunch either," he adds rather callously to me.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I force them back. I don't deserve any of this.

"Fine," is what I muster, though it's rather weak. "Enjoy Hogsmeade. Let's go Dean," I say with my chin held high, and drag my date by the arm past a livid Ron and out to the staircases to leave all the nonsense behind.

* * *

"Hey Malfoy, you coming to Hogsmeade or what! ?"

_I did not want to be woken up.  
At the crack of dawn.  
On a _Saturday_._

"I would appreciate you _not_ shrieking as loud as a hyena at high noon at 7 fucking AM." I protest, still in my blankets.

"So, is that a no?"

"Shut up."

"It's 8:27 by the way."

"I told you to _shut your mouth_, Nott."

"Ooh, the little ferret is grouchy in the morning, in'nt he?"

"I'm going to curse you."

"Not while you're under green bed sheets, you won't."

I give a little sigh, sick of our little banter and throw the covers off me. Nott is in his duelling stance, wand at the ready looking half-amused and half-frightened.

"Put it down, stupid. I'm merely going to get dressed."

"Oh, so you _are_ coming." He says and flips his wand in the air and then drops it when his reflexes fail. I notice he's cleaner than usual; and wearing decent attire for once. Huh.

"I suppose I am. It's better than being cooped up in here I guess. I can go and purchase some Firewhiskey at Devereux's Fine Winery, and maybe pick up sweets too at Honeydukes."

"Oh, so you're eating now?" he asks offhandedly as he bends down to pick up his wand.

I turn pink but say nothing. I swivel to face my dresser and rifle through it grabbing a pair of dark grey wool slacks and a white 'trendy' shirt that is apparently called a 'v-neck'. An idiot could've come up with that title. My mother buys me all sorts of random articles of clothing when she goes to France, which now that Dads in prison, is a lot. I suspect shopping is her 'therapy' or so it were.

"I know Malfoy, about your little problem." Nott quips as I pull on my clothes.

"You don't know a thing," I snap, and grab my dragon skin gloves and scarf off my book bag.

"You never eat, and you barely have any meat on you. When I gave you that chicken last week, I knew you weren't going to touch it the second you poked it. Plus it doesn't exactly look like you're on an all chocolate diet, even if you _do_ have a sweet tooth. It's the stress, I know, I've had it as well." He walks over to me and puts a hand warmly on my shoulder, like he's actually relatable to me.

And I suppose he _is_, though he doesn't seem to have been quite so affected by 'stress'; he's always been thin and tall, but he isn't sporting the disgusting under eye circles of insomnia that I can`t seem to get rid of.

"Well maybe I've decided," I reply softly, "That i`d like to live a little longer than 18 years."

Nott is silent, then after a few seconds smirks happily.

"What're you so happy about?" I remark angrily, and shrug off his hand.

"Oh, I wasn't smiling because of you, I just er - I have a date today!" he beams happily.

"With whom?" I ask bewildered. _Who would want to go out with _him_?_

"Astoria," he states proudly. _Oh, really?_ "Speaking of which I told her I'd meet her at 8:30 in the Common room, lets' go! Don't want to miss this proud moment, eh?"

_Oh I think I'll manage without it, _I think, but sigh and just follow him down the stairs, deciding not to argue for once. Besides, this 'date' might be a humorous endeavour.

As we make our way into the fireplace area, I spot Astoria with a nervous expression on her face. Her friend, named Rachel Higgins I believe, is standing next to her looking unpleased.

"Astoria," Nott says loudly, spreading his arms wide and engulfing her in a hug, oblivious to her discomfort. "You ready to go on our date?"

How lame can you _be?_

"Um, yes. About that. Is it okay if Rachel comes too? She, er, got blown off by her date and is really taking it hard." As if on cue, Rachel gives a little sniff.

It's a really obvious lie she's telling, but Nott gobbles it up like breakfast, although he looks crestfallen about it.

"Sure…no problem. Sorry to hear that. Hey, wait…" Suddenly he turns to me with a hopeful smile and the smirk that I had been sporting fades. 'Why don't we double date! Draco can go with Rachel! How about it?"

He looks from me to Astoria and back again, and I know I'm stuck; this is the favour I'm going to have to repay for him saving me.

I gaze at Rachel to see her reaction, and am surprised to see her with a wide grin on her face. She flits her eyebrows up and down once coyly at me, and I feel my face contort into a half-grimace. Okay, favour or not, I am _not_ cuddling up with _her._

"Just give us a minute," Astoria says too cheerily and pulls me aside. "I need to fill Draco in on the, erm, situation."

"No." I state as she faces me, even though she hasn't said anything yet.

"_Please,_" she begs, whispering, her face desperate.

"_Why did you agree to a date with him, if you didn't want to go? He's going to have to find out you aren't keen on him sooner or later!" _I hiss.

"_Look, I don't know what I was thinking, but he was being very sweet and I thought maybe I should give him a chance. But then Graham told me how all he talks about are girls and what they can 'do', and I think maybe he's only asked me out to get me to, erm, do certain things I don't want to." _Well she certainly hits the nail on the head.

"_Please, Malfoy? If you don't come, I know Rachel will bail on me; she fancies you, so she'll stay if you tag along."_

I have the greatest desire to say "hell, no!". This girl fancies me? She looks like a mix between a Shetland pony and a lizard. I'm sorry, but shallow or not, you have to draw the line somewhere.

_Why do all the creepy girls like me?_

But then I think maybe Nott will let slip what happened to me last week to Astoria if I ruin this for him. Maybe he'll tell all the Slytherins; the shame and behind-my-back mockery will be worse than any 'date' I have to endure. Fuck. Fuckity, fuckity, fuck.

"Fine," I answer, rolling my eyes. Astoria tries not to look too ecstatic and mouths a thank you.

"Alright, let's get on with it." I say, and Nott claps me on the back, while Rachel loops her arm around mind, giggling. Fantastic.

We make sure we have all our belongings and exit the room to go meet the rest of the students in the courtyard.

* * *

"So where do you want to go next?" Is what Dean is presently asking me. I haven't been a good date at all so far; I'm still moping over Ron.

Dean hasn't gotten outwardly angry or annoyed, although he hasn't smiled sincerely since we left the common room. We just left Honeydukes (where he bought me a Chocolate Dragon Heart) and I suggest that we go Dominic Maestro's, a newer shop that Professor McGonagall said had a good selection of records and composition books. I'd like to get some for future practicing.

Dean nods his approval but says nothing.

"You must think I'm a horrible date," I say and grab his hand, wanting to re-establish a connection.

"Of course not," he says looking at me benevolently, and squeezes my hand firmly. "It's upsetting to have a row with a good friend, especially one that you've had a relationship with."

"I know," I reply, loving that he understands. "But all the same, I shouldn't let it affect me when I'm with somebody else, i.e you."

We reach the threshold of the music shop and Dean opens the door for me. Smiling, I enter, causing a little bell to toll. A fat man with small glasses waves at us welcoming, and I can only presume he is Dominic, the owner.

"Anything I can help you with?" He asks kindly. I look around me in amazement; all kinds of exotic instruments hang from the walls, the place is stuffed with books and there's an entire section dedicated to replacement parts.

"Yes, can you tell us where we might find Beethoven compositions?"

"Ah, old Ludwig Van is so popular today. Over there behind the fifth bookshelf is where you'll find him," he chuckles as he points to the left.

I grab Dean's hand once again and clutch it past the rows of books. I spot Theodore Nott and a blond Slytherin girl beside him standing extremely close together in the third row. Dean notices them too as we pass and I look at him a moment later. We both giggle. She looked uneasy as he talked to her exuberantly, while he was ecstatic and slightly mental at the close proximity; it's quite amusing.

What isn't so amusing is an annoying voice I hear as I round the corner to where Beethoven's works are. I hear a shrill voice croon:

"Ooh Draco, are you almost finished? I'd _loooooove_ it if we could go to Madam Puddifoot's soon." I look in front of me and see Malfoy rifling through the section that I'm searching for. A short, slightly corpulent (that is to say, _large)_ red-haired girl is clinging to the back of his robes while he looks increasingly aggravated.

He rolls his eyes and continues to browse ignoring her, while I move hesitantly beside him. At the same time, Malfoy and I glance at each other through the corner of our eyes. His face contorts from annoyance to an expression I can't decipher and he flushes pink. He shrugs his shoulders to get the girl off the back of him and she makes a whiny noise in protest. She notices that I'm staring at her and gives me a dirty scowl.

Dean comes beside me and puts a hand on my back protectively. I can feel him stare at her, she slumps slightly. Malfoy backs away from us sensing the tension, clutching a book. He opens it and shuffles through it half-heartedly, then slams it shut with one hand.  
"Let's go, I'm done here" he says simply to the girl, still staring at me. She giggles and wraps her arm around his skinny frame, placing a hand in his coat pocket. "Okay! Oh, I'm so excited!"

Then she stands on her tip toes and kisses the hollow of his cheek a few times. He closes his eyes sighing, but says nothing, and then walks away dragging her behind. I feel a strange jolt in my chest as I see her fawning all over him; but push it aside. _I came to this shop for a reason._

"Were you looking for anything, Dean? McGonagall recommended us Beethoven's opus collective works, remember? Dean?"

I turn slightly to see him frown slightly. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"I don't like the way he was looking at you. Malfoy," he clarifies.

"W-what do you mean?" I ask, a little unnerved.

"It just….nevermind." he says shaking his head.

_What?_ I want to know what he was looking at me like!  
However, I think maybe I should drop this sensitive subject. I know how much he despises him.

"I don't really want to buy the works today, but you go ahead." He says after a moment, trying to distract me. "Then we can go for tea."

I find the violin copy of the book and walk silently to the till alongside Dean. Dominic smiles at me as I pay the 3 galleons, 5 sickles and hands me my purchase in a lovely red bag with the store name on it.

I nod a goodbye and exit to the snowy street, Dean still silent. I saunter towards Madam Puddifoot's unenthusiastically, still curious about what my date's words meant. We reach the end of High Street, and are just about to hit Madam Puddifoot's when Dean tells me all of a sudden;

"He was looking at you like you were dessert."

"Excuse me?" I say a little offended.

"Malfoy was gazing at you like he'd like to gobble you up." I guess _that_ answer is revealed.

"If he _ever_ tries anything, let me know, and I'll.." he clenches his fist and doesn't need to finish his sentence.

"I'm sure that's not it…."I try soothingly. "He's hated me forever, why should that change now?"

"Because you look bloody marvellous!" despite myself, I smile. "Especially today. He's shallow; He doesn't know the real you, and thus can only judge you on how you look. And you're a right better looker than whoever _that _girl was. I reckon he's jealous."

_Jealous of what?_

I jerk to a halt abruptly and then continue walking again to cover it up...What I felt in the music shop was _jealousy._

I was jealous of that girl.

_But why?_

I have an equally good-looking companion who's much nicer to me, and shares a lot of interest with me. You'd think I'd be perfectly happy.

I _hate_ hormones.


	12. Reducto

**_Well you're the real tough cookie with the long history, _**  
**_Of breaking little hearts, like the one in me. _**  
**_That's O.K., lets see how you do it. _**  
**_Put up your dukes, lets get down to it! _**  
**_Hit Me With Your Best Shot!_**

**- Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Pat Benatar**

* * *

_This girl will just _not_ leave me alone._

Rachel has been glued to my hip ever since we left the courtyard and I must say, it's really starting to get on my last nerve. All the Slytherins I've seen have snickered at me when we passed them, as well as a few students from the rest of the houses, which leads me to believe that something is clearly wrong with her. Well, besides her overall appearance anyways.

We've just arrived (Nott, Astoria, Rachel and I) at Madam Puddifoot's. I've never actually been in here before, it's not really my taste. Pansy always wanted to drag me here but I refused. Basically because all she would've wanted to do is make out and create a scene about our kissing. But I personally don't like to make a spectacle of my private life. I certainly never wanted to spend time sitting in a frivolous, pink, heart- filled tea shop, so why would I now? It's also bloody hot.

Besides that point, I'm not going to kiss Rachel, I surely hope she knows that. I trust her not to make such a scene about it if I don't; it's not exactly like I agreed to have a legitimate date. If she turns into another Pansy, I think I'll just jump off the Astronomy tower as soon as we get back to Hogwarts. It was very difficult to wound Pansy's spirit, if you know what I mean. Every time I rejected her in any way, she'd just shrug it off and bounce right back in at me. It`s called taking a hint! I don't need_that_ again.

"Table for 2, dears?" asks the hostess, making me suddenly aware of how utterly disgusting this place is. And very aware of the (unattractive) girl holding my hand. I know I'm being a giant ass about this whole endeavour, but her personality isn't any better than her appearance and that _is _saying something. At least Pansy didn't look like a troll.

"Oh, no, 4 please," Astoria says loudly, causing both Nott & Rachel to sulk. The hostess (Madge, apparently) looks at us strangely, shrugs, and then walks us to the middle of the tea shop. Lovely.

`Madge` flicks her wand and 2 tiny tables move closer together. She gives us a little heart-shaped menu as we sit down. The front is emblazoned with gold print and reads: '_Hogwarts Student Special: Dates who buy a drink each get one dessert free! (Must be under a galleon)' ._

Rachel unfortunately takes a seat opposite me, so I'm forced to look at her face; unless of course I decide to direct my attention to Nott who is sitting beside her. His expression isn't much better, he looks like an awe-struck 12 year old who`s seen breasts for the first time. I mean Astoria is pretty and everything, but can't he see how uninterested she is in him?

Not a very good date, if you ask me. But I suppose I'm doing the same to Rachel, and she's still giving me the googly eyes. _Sigh._

I tire of analyzing these people.

"Do you have your drink orders yet, loves?" I look up to see a fat woman with a black bun, who no doubt is Madame Puddifoot herself, gazing at us appraisingly.

"Black Coffee," I state. Not in the mood for tea. I think I'll pass out on the table if I drink it, the atmosphere is so steamy and warm.

"Oh, me too!" Rachel pipes up and I raise an eyebrow quizzically. It's not very often a 16 year old will drink coffee without copious amounts of sugar. Normally I would stuff my cup with cream, but I don't think my system can handle it at the moment. I suspect a fraud.

"I'll have the lemon-raspberry chai tea, please. With lots of sugar added if it's not too much trouble," Astoria orders.

"That tea will be nearly as sweet as you!" Nott says 'charmingly'. I roll my eyes and Astoria fake smiles, clearly creeped out.

"I suppose I'll just have breakfast tea," He says and the Madame nods and takes our little heart menus from our hands.

After she walks away, little flecks of pink fall onto the table and all four of us look up at where they came from. Tiny winged creatures are swooshing around with baskets filled with this confetti-like paper.

"Oooh, I remember these little angels from 2 years ago!" Astoria says fondly. "They were here on Valentine's Day. I guess since the Hogsmeade trip wasn't until now she brought them out for today. Must've known a lot of dates would be happening…" she ends unenthusiastically.

"Who were you here with on Valentine's Day with?" Nott chuckles a little nervously.

"Blaise Zabini," she says quietly. His face turns a putrid shade of purple, but he says nothing.

That's right isn't it? Old Blaise wanted to try dating the younger ones to see if they'd be any better than girls our age. As I recall they kissed a bit, but the relationship didn't seem to last long….well at least she's not a slut. But if all works out today (doubtful) that`s a big standard Nott is going to have to live up to. I know a handsome man when I see one, and Blaise is a handsome man. Idiotic pecker; now I have _this_ buffoon as my wing man.

Now there's just an ensuing awkward silence. I tap my finger on the table with a hand on my chin, bored.

I look around me escaping our boring motley crew, and regret it instantly as I see who's coming in the door: Granger and Thomas, all buddy-buddy and holding hands. The little cherubs dance across their heads and practically dump their whole buckets of confetti on them.

Oh, and now they get to sit right across from us, fantastic. Wait. _What is she wearing_?

She's taking off her coat to reveal a lot more cleavage than I thought she could ever have grown.

Ugh. Tightness forming in the pants region.

Of course Granger has to sit right where I can see her. Fuck.

_She looks bloody_ _alluring_. _Look at those divine long legs. I want to touch those breasts._

My mind moves a mile a minute with different thoughts whizzing in and out that I do not want to be thinking. Brain vs. penis.

This annoys me to the extent where I want to poke my eye out with a fork. I think she looks fucking delicious, and yes, if I had one too many I'd probably hit on her. But that's all it is; it's just carnal. To think that I'd actually fall in love with her (or like her for who she is for that matter) is insane. Opposites attract they say, but enemies do not.

So maybe I should stop gawking at her.

_But I really _would l_ike to stick my dick in her._  
I can't though, can I? So just look at Rachel and be turned off instantly so you can resume life. I force my eyes back onto the imp sitting in front of me, and she's staring at me.

"Have youuuuu ever been here, Draco?" Rachel asks me batting her lashes, while reaching out for my hand. Gross.

"No."

"Really? Well maybe I'll have to teach you the proper protocol, then tehe!" she giggles. Even more nauseating.

"Er who did you go with?" I ask hesitantly. I'm curious to know who would think of her as a love interest.

"Roy Everclear," she says proudly.

Well that explains it. He has a lower IQ than Goyle, and looks even more like a gargoyle.

I feel a small pain thinking about Crabbe and Goyle. I guess they never were my friends, exactly. But they had my back all the time, and I do feel sad that Crabbe had to die in such a vicious manner, even if it _was _from his own stupidity. I feel so alone now. I haven't heard from Goyle, or Blaise or Pansy since that dire day in the fire; I suppose they`ve moved elsewhere like the rest of us have.

"Are you alright?" I feel a tap on my wrist. It's Astoria's.

"Fine," I say impassive, trying to alter my face to an expression more universal. She frowns for a moment and then continues listening to a droning Nott who's talking about 'that one time' he managed to fight off a pogrebin when he went camping with his dad in Yorkshire.

"So…do you like music?" I ask Rachel, grasping at straws.

"Of course, silly! I play the piano, like you, duhh. Didn't you see me at the auditions?" No, I didn't.  
_She plays the piano?_ Should I give her shred of respect for this, or feel troubled by the fact she plays the same thing as I?

"Who are you favourite composers?" I ask more eagerly, hoping to god she doesn't just say Beethoven and Bach like everyone else automatically says. I already spent most of the change I have on Ludwig Van's bloody opus works!

"Composers?" she pulls a face. "Ugh, I absolutely _hate_ the stuff McGonagall is teaching us. I'd much rather play something from the Weird Sisters or Celestina Warbeck. And right now I'm soooo into darker music like the Hobgoblin's. I'm kind of a mysterious girl," she winks.

Great, so this is the only common ground we have and she ruins it by liking generic music that has all the same rhythm. Doesn't like classical music….what an, an…. Uncultured minx.

"So who do you like?" she says, chomping on the complimentary biscuits that just got plonked on the table. Mouth wide open. Disgusting. Hasn`t she heard of table manners?

"Chopin, Liszt, Schubert, Tchaikovsky, Berlioz, and I suppose The Juxtaposition's are the only band I listen to." I list distantly.

She looks at me confused, obviously having no idea who I'm talking about and I just shake my head. _Worst date ever._

Madame Puddifoot arrives back with a doily filled tray and our orders. I grab my coffee and take a sip, relishing in its hotness. I like my coffee scorching hot, I don't care if it burns my tongue.

Rachel does the same keenly, but she spits it back in the mug immediately, making an 'ick' noise, and causing me to smirk. _Just as I suspected._

My smirk fades however, when I look directly in front of me. That stupid Gryffindor is so close to Granger that their noses are practically touching. The look in her eyes that she's passing to him is something I've never had the privilege of receiving myself. Much more than lust, it's actual desire and liking. Their lips are parted, and then they meet, and a fire rages inside me that isn't caused by any caffeine product.

I slam the cup down on the table and cross my arms. Rachel whips around to see what caused me such anguish and then turns back receiving the wrong message from that. She pushes out her lips like a trout and leans forward clutching my shoulders across the small table.

"I do _not_ want to kiss you, thank you very much." I say relatively harshly, but quietly, pushing her off me. Her eyes brim with tears and her mouth is quivering. _Oh no._

She mumbles something like an 'excuse me' and shoves back her chair loudly, running outside the shop.

Several people around us, including old Granger, turn around to view the commotion, and then glare at me. I sigh for the millionth time and put my head in my hands.

Astoria moves her seat back and gets up hastily. "I think I'd better go see if she's alright," she says and strides with more grace from the tea shop.

Nott looks at me angrily, like I've _just_ spoiled his date.

"Oh don't give me that look, she clearly wasn't having a good time." I spit.

He looks completely heart broken. "_What are you talking about?_"

"She begged me to go with Rachel today because she didn't want to be alone with you!" I hiss.

"W-why not?" Oh god, I hope he isn't going to start bawling.

"Because she is under the impression that all you want from her is sex and other things, and _no,_ I didn't tell her that," I warn, as he looks like he's going to explode.

"Who did?!"

"I suggest you ask her!"

"Maybe I will!" he says and jumps up from his chair too. He puts on his coat and runs out the door as well. Once again our ruckus has drawn a crowd of eavesdroppers.

I sit silently for a few minutes, drinking my coffee in silence, ignoring everyone else.

But I notice now the pair across from me has ordered a chocolate mousse. She's spoon feeding Thomas some of it, and she's giggling like a love sick little girl. I think I want to vomit.

"Fuck this."

I stand up and toss 3 galleons onto the table hoping it'll cover everything, and exit the tea shop. I think I have enough time to go get the bottle of Firewhiskey I wanted before this waste of a day is over. Or maybe 3 or 4….

* * *

I wasn't sure if turning this date from friendly to really romantic was the best way to go, but I felt bad about acting so dejected, and I wanted to shake off my stupid jealousy about a certain someone.

_Why did they just get up and leave anyways?_  
I have a lovely tall dark and handsome boy right in front of me, I shouldn't care.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs against my hand, holding it to his face.

"Just beautiful?" I tease, blushing. "My conversation isn't good. I'm not intelligent or interesting?"

"Oh, well, I already knew you were both those things. But it's not every day that I get to go out with someone with beauty that is equal to her wit."

I turn scarlet at this. He's _so _very charming. "Thank Lavender for that," I say and giggle.

"Lavender? Why?" he asks dreamily.

"Well, I'm not very good at dressing up you see," I laugh. "She wanted me to look as good as possible today to infuriate Ron." I realize after I say it that I made a mistake bringing him up. I'm just so warm and light-headed I wasn't thinking like the rational Hermione normally does.

He sits up straight and drops my hand back on the table, apparently not in a loving mood anymore.

"Why did you want to piss off Ron?" he asks, with a slight grimace on his face.

"Oh, no, I didn't want to at all. I just think Lavender had a hidden agenda by helping me get ready. I voiced that I was reluctant to wear these pants because I wore them on a date with Ron, who said he really, really liked them. Then she said to get over myself essentially, and that I was fooling myself to think that Ron would care about his 'favourite pants' more than the fact I spent more time getting ready for our date than I ever did for him. I think after the outcome of last year, she still has feelings for him." I finish looking down at my hands on the table, not wanting to stare at Dean.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes and grabs both my hands. "I didn't mean to get upset."

"It's fine, I just wish all of this could be over. I wish Ron could just grasp the fact that I'm not his property." I say irritated.

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened between you two anyways? He refused to tell me when I asked."

I sigh.

"He just took things too far too fast. We were barely going out for a month and he…," _should I continue? _"He tried to well, undress me. And I'm not against intimacy or anything…but this is someone who was my best friend for 7 years, and it was all very strange. And- yeah." I decide not to say anymore, he's looking awkward.

"Want to leave?" I ask him. "We can just go for a walk before we need to go back to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, it is quite hot in here," he notes. "Though I don't think it's just because of the heat," he winks at me, returning to normal.

I blush for the hundredth time, and start to stand up. Dean helps me put on my jacket, and we pay our bill then exit.

It's been about 20 minutes.  
Dean and I have decided to take a seat on a flat rock at the beginning of the path to the Shrieking Shack. It's a bit more private but not too far, as we have to start going back in about half an hour. I'm so glad I don't have Prefect and Head Girl duties this year. It isn't that I didn't feel honoured to be chosen 2 years ago, McGonagall asked me. It takes so much pressure off of me; no more duties equals extra reading and study time!

"Thanks for a good day," I tell him, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Hopefully next time it'll be a bit more cheerful," he laughs and puts an arm around me.

"Hopefully," I say quietly. I close my eyes, feeling at ease in the clear peaceful day when Dean cups my chin towards his face.

Then he kisses my lips gently. I smile very wide and don't take my eyes off of him.

That is until I hear an angry voice from a distance.

"_What do you think you're doing! ?_"

I swivel my head to see Ron charging towards us from outside The Three Broomsticks, rolling up his sleeves, Harry and Ginny behind him shouting "Ron!"

Dean jumps up and narrows his eyes.  
"Dean, sit down. It's not worth it."

I know something horrible is about to take place. With one last attempt to stop this, I grab Dean's forearm but it's too late. He whips my hand away and strides confidently towards his opponent, and I emit an angry noise that he isn't listening to me.

Ron stands directly in front of Dean as he reaches him, eye to eye, scowls on both their faces.

"Don't ever kiss her again! Do you hear me? NEVER AGAIN!" Ron shouts scarily.

"She liked it, actually. And it hasn't been the first time today!" Dean retorts, clearly pissed off.

Ron turns red with rage. "I don't care if she liked it! Can't you see I love her? More than you ever could! Friends don't do that to each other!"

"When will you get it through your thick head that she doesn't want you anymore! She needs space but you keep on coming in and invading in everything she does," Dean replies pushing him in the chest; Ron has gotten too close.

Ron pushes Dean, Dean pushes Ron. Ron pushes Dean, Dean pushes Ron again.

"Stop it!" I yell, as I stand in shock that this is _actually _happening. "Both of you!"

Harry has tried clutching Ron by the shoulders, but being much taller than him, Ron just pushes him off. Ginny doesn't know what to do; it's her ex vs. her brother. If she says something to Ron she'll be sticking up for Dean. But if she says something to Dean, she's defending her brother and advocating his bad behaviour.

"Ron, you're being childish, just stop! Dean, you're just provoking him," Harry says, trying to sound strong, calm unable to get in his tone. "If a teacher finds out you'll both be in over your heads; come on, listen to me!"

And then I see a fist raised, Ron's, and Harry's protests are ignored as the havoc begins. Dean barely waivers as Ron hits him in the face, hooking Ron in the jaw, who falls to his knees.

A jolt shocks through my chest. I can't just sit here and let this happen, I can't see my friends get hurt like this in such a petty circumstance.

Ron plays dirty and hits Dean in the knee, who gives a pained growl, allowing Ron to get back on his feet again. Dean regains his composure and puts his hands on Ron's neck pushing him backwards, while Ron replies by doing the same.

They start punching each other and doing other uncivil things for a minutes, and I've decided I've had enough; it's time to step in. They won't dare punch a girl, especially one they're fighting for. Honestly, _fighting_ for me. This is so melodramatic.

A small assembly of spectators has formed (some yelling 'fight', others horrified), yet no teacher is in sight. I feel very self-conscious as I walk up to them, not to mention scared, determined nonetheless.

As I get close, I wait for a second as they break contact and seize the chance when it comes to step in between them. Dean's eyes bulge in dismay as I'm facing his way; he freezes with his arms raised.  
"_Stop it."_

"Hermione, what are you doing!" comes a voice from the crowd; it sounds like Harry.

"Don't you _dare_ hit her or – NOOO!" Ginny's warning is too late. I feel something swift and hard knock me on the side of my head, and I fall in the cold snow on the ground. A gasp reverberates through the crowd.

The pain is agonizing, I clutch my throbbing skull with tears rolling down my cheeks. I look up hazily to see Dean with the most nasty grimace I've ever seen, teeth bared and ready to knock Ron senseless.

"REDUCTO!"

A blast of a spell swooshes just over my head and I hear a loud grunt followed by a thud. Complete silence.

I look behind me as fast as my injury lets me to see Ron on the ground, half in shock and half hurt. It seems to have hit him square in the chest.

At the same time I do, the whole crowd turns their heads behind Dean to see who stunned Ron and it's...

_No._

It's Malfoy.

His wand is still pointed outwards, his expression unreadable, and he's breathing heavily. As all eyes gaze upon him, a hand jerks his shoulder backwards to spin him around to face them; an old, withered hand.

McGonagall.

Nobody can hear what they're saying, though it looks like he's getting it laid on him harshly. He stands rigid, and puts his wand in his pocket slowly. After a moment or two McGonagall looks over his shoulder and pushes him aside.

She walks briskly over to me casting a stern look in my direction.

"Shouldn't you be helping her up by now, Potter?" she spits, and my friend snaps out of an apparent daze he's been in and comes over offering his hand. I take it, still with my other palm putting pressure on my now swollen cranial area.

"Weasley, Thomas, you will follow me back to the castle and into my office, _now._ MALFOY!" she shouts, and everyone within earshot winces. "Kindly join us, won't you?" she orders anything but kind.

Malfoy hesitates but then slowly saunters over to the headmaster folding his arms, looking at no one, while Ron stares at him lividly.

"Potter, escort Miss Granger to the castle, to the hospital wing. And in a few minutes when she's back at her wits, bring her to me." Harry nods silently, and holds onto my arm making sure I don't fall.

"Hermione…I'm _so_ sorry," Ron whispers quickly as McGonagall starts walking away.

"Save it!" I snap, and a sharp pain resonates through my brain. Too loud. Ron flinches, but says nothing more as he walks away in shame.

Dean looks at me unhappily, his eyes asking a question. I interpret it as _are we going to be okay?_ I shake my head no, and he closes his eyes slowly and nods, following after Ron. No way am I going to start a relationship with somebody who can't keep his cool. Damn, we started out so good.  
This is absurd.

The person who I am most interested in won't look or talk to me. His hands are shoved into his pockets, bottles of Firewhiskey poking out of them I notice, and his pale face is looking at the footprints on the ground as he too follows our teacher back to no doubt a world of punishment.


	13. Punishment with Partners

**_So here I am, doing everything I can_**  
**_Holding on to what I am, pretending I'm a superman_**

**_I'm trying to keep the ground on my feet,_**  
**_It seems the world's falling down around me._**

**_And I'm so confused about what to do,_**  
**_Sometimes I want to throw it all away._**

**- _Superman_, Goldfinger**

* * *

"Oh, Hermione, it'll be alright in the end, please don't be upset."

I'm trying to stop moping; I've been overemotional since Harry and Ginny started walking me back to the castle. I just _hate_ this. I hate Ron. I am _not_ pleased with Dean. And I'm confused about everything else.

This is why books are better than boys. They never let you down; just give you a thrilling story or knowledge. Plus, they can't hurt you.

The bump on my head is now implausibly large. Madam Pomfrey gave me a Bump-be-Gone potion a few minutes ago, and the swelling is down at least. But now I'm just sitting here whining like a little baby on Harry's shoulder while Ginny rubs my back, unsure of what to say.

"Hermione…?" Harry starts. I look up at him teary-eyed, listening. "Do you think maybe we should go see McGonagall now…? Just so you can get it over and done with. It's been near an hour."

He stares at me uneasily, hoping I don't react too badly. I swallow and clear my throat, I don't know why I'm so angry besides the fact I got conked on the head. It was just a silly fight? Right?

I just want to go to sleep and pretend this day didn't happen.

"I suppose we should." I say quietly, not revealing what I truly think. I must still be rational about this; I need to sort out at happened with McGonagall so no further trouble happens.

Harry and Ginny stand up, while I drag my feet and sulk to the Hospital Wing exit. I see Harry whisper something to his girlfriend and give her a small peck. She smiles and then goes off in the opposite direction that Harry and I are going, not before squeezing my arm lightly.

Envy fills me like a gaping wound as we walk through the empty corridors. I wish I could have what Harry and Ginny seem to have.

I wanted that with Ron  
He said he was still in love with me…but what Dean said hit a note; if he loved me he'd give me space when I say I need it, wouldn't he?

"Ready?" Harry asks me, as we near the unmistakable entrance; a hippogriff with its wings fanned to keep away the public. My thoughts turn to fear.

"She didn't tell us the password," I say, with a glimmer of hope that we won't have to go up.

"Well, I've been able to guess the password before….what does McGonagall like?" Harry asks. "That'll probably be it. Dumbledore liked to use sweets."

"I don't know," I reply deflated. "But I hardly think it'll be candy. Something simple probably; something straightforward. Order? Discipline…..Transfiguration? Gryffindor?" I question laughing.

Suddenly a great lurch like an earthquake sounds, and I realize that the bird is moving upwards to form a staircase.

"Really? Gryffindor?" Harry chuckles.

We step onto the stone-like escalator and the laughter escapes me as quick as it came. My stomach is tied in knots. I'm about to enter a room with the head of my house who is also the headmaster, and 3 boys who I've all had some sort of weird relationship with.

As if sensing my fear, Harry clasps my hand and squeezes it once, and I look up at him nervously, but meaningfully.

Oh Merlin, here we go.

* * *

"So let me get this correctly: You two, grown young men, _seventh_ years, the examples of our fine institution, were in fisticuffs over _Miss Granger_! ?"

"Well, er, yeah."

Good god, finally! We've been trying to get this conversation to start about three trillion times in the past half hour. They're just too stupid to tell McGonagall the truth and anytime I want to say anything she just shushes me.

We're all sitting in chairs facing McGonagall's desk. She's placed me to the right senseless Thomas, who is at the far left. To my right is a chair for Granger obviously, and beside the empty chair is Weasel.

That's going to go over well.

I'd knock him one right now if I had the chance actually; who the hell hits without paying attention? Let alone, _smashes_ with his fist?

Even _I_ wouldn't do that…well okay, if she was attacking me maybe, but she wasn't doing anything.

I want to kill him!

_Fuck.  
_I think it's time to face facts; I have a thing for the stupid Mudblood. Any other year and I would be thanking Weasley for almost murdering her, but now I want to send retribution in the way of him instead.

But why? It can't just be the small change in me, the one where I suddenly am half as good as insults as I used to be, that makes her attractive; just because I've finally learned my lesson doesn't mean I'd change the way I think about her. It's not like she's ever been nice to me, she has no reason to.

Am I really that shallow to simply like her for her body? Or because I'm not '_supposed'_ to have her? Stupid Nott and his planting of ideas...

Okay, stop it Draco, you're just going to make your own blood boil. To distract myself I look around the office; I've never been in here actually. It's quite unnerving really, with all the portraits of past Headmaster's eavesdropping on us.

"….but I was on a date with her! She agreed to it, why did you have to ruin it?"

"Ruin? I was saving her from your stupid attacking lips!"

"'Saving her?' Oh please, you fucking hit her in the head!"  
In my thoughts, they've managed to start fighting again.

"ENOUGH." McGonagall practically shouts, thank goodness. They both snap to attention.

"Enough. This is childish; I would expect this behaviour from younger children who haven't matured yet, but you boys? _My_ Gryffindor's," she says almost glumly, and I sigh. Apparently I'm just dragon dung being a Slytherin. "Do you not think you're causing Miss Granger enough trouble by fighting over a date and a few kisses? Honestly, you're both adults; act like it. And you Mr. Malfoy," she says finally addressing me.

I sit up straighter and uncross my leg from my knee, looking at her dead in the face. "Yes?" I want to tell her what I saw. I don't want to cover any deceit for once.

I saw Dean cup her stupid chin with his 'delicate' fingers and kiss her. I saw her smile at him like a lovesick child, and then I noticed Weazelbee and his counterparts leave the Three Broomsticks.

I hate how the Potter clan have taught themselves to simply fist fight in the face of adversity, instead of duelling like real Wizards; barbaric. My arrogance actually brings back fond memories rather than cruel ones. I wish I was still eleven and ignorant, I wish I didn't have to feel. I wish I wasn't toiling over a girl I'll never have.

As McGonagall goes to open her mouth, Dean shouts "Don't ask him what happened! He's just going to give some glorified version of the truth on his side of favour!", and I scowl.

"Quiet! Do not speak while I am trying to speak, Mr. Thomas. I'd like to hear – "

_KNOCK KNOCK._

All is silent.

"_Professor, it's Harry. And, Hermione,"_ is what is said from behind the closed door.

"Very well Potter, send her in and kindly exit." McGonagall says evenly, but loud.

The door creaks slowly, and then in she walks timidly, red-faced, bleary eyed, and with a sizeable bump that makes me want to curse dear Ronald silently. But I don't, because as Granger sits down, she stares at me with such a – a piercing look, my mind goes blank. I stare at her completely nonplussed and she just flushes red.

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, and the awkwardness with a machete.

"Now Hermione," McGonagall says kindly, but firm, "we've been trying to decipher what exactly happened an hour ago and why. Would you care to share your side of the story?" The Gryffindor boys both groan, and I roll my eyes.

"I –" she begins and stops, and I knew the second she hesitated that she isn't going to say a thing. She likes both of them too much, doesn't want them in trouble. "I honestly don't know why any of it had to happen," she says quietly.

McGonagall sighs, and flicks up her hands in dismissal.

"Alright then, Malfoy, care to share your side?" I nod, ignoring everyone else.

"Well, I was – " Thomas grunts, and I narrow my eyes in his direction, and put a hand to my torso; he cowers slightly, realizing _finally _that if he does anything I could tell his head of house about who was behind beating me up a month ago. Revenge is sweet.

"I was walking towards The Three Broomsticks, going to get a drink in before we all had to venture back here," I say, covering my hands over my pockets where my bottles of alcohol reside. "And I see these two kissing," I point at Granger & Thomas. Weasley grunts this time, but I decide to ignore it.  
"Then next thing I see, Weasley, his sister and Potter are all in a kerfuffle because Weasel is angry at old Dean here for kissing Granger, because he's 'in love with her.'"

Weasel makes a growling noise, but Granger shushes him quietly and he stops; I realize she's hanging onto my every word. Good, it's about time she finally listened to what I have to say after all these years.

"Then they both get into a fist fight for whatever reason, I don't know why, to figure out who the alpha male is I suppose; punching and kicking each other while other idiots watch. After a few minutes, Granger decides it's enough."

I'm about to continue when McGonagall says, "You will address your peers politely. It is 'Hermione', not 'Granger', Mr. Malfoy." I disregard that and continue. I've never called her by her first name, and I never will.

"_She" _I emphasize, not letting the teacher win, "steps in when she can, but unfortunately Weasley is too uncoordinated to keep his focus and hits her in the head with his fist."

Weasley is livid now; he's practically leapt off the seat, probably wanting to kill me.

"See how violent he is? Look at him, he wants to hit me too for telling the truth," I say mock incredulously, and the other 3 look at him while he attempts to calm down in the spotlight.

"I'm angry because you cursed me! You seemed to have left that part out of the story" he lashes back at me.

"Did I say I was finished!" I snap, lying because I actually wanted to leave that out of the discussion.

"Well why did you then?" the voice comes not from the headmaster or boys, but from Granger herself.

We all look at her, and then everyone looks at me with a questioning gaze.

"Merely, I was stopping the ruckus before further damage could be done, I _am_ Head Boy after all, am I not?" I say, and everyone, even McGonagall are gazing at me confused. Okay, so I skipped duties today but whatever. They're staring and I know it's because it's Granger and I've hated her since birth essentially. I also hate Weasley indefinitely, and thus what would the point of me stopping him getting clobbered? At the same time, they know I love getting Gryffindors in trouble, so they can't decide what the hell is wrong with me.

"Very well…" McGonagall says finally. "I have come to a decision."

A decision?

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Thomas, you are both to leave Miss Granger alone – period. Until she says you can speak to her, I don't want you fraternizing with her or with each other for that matter."

"WHAT?"

"How will that solve anything! ?"

Ha ha, excellent. Nobody wins.

McGonagall ignores them and continues. "You will both be under surveillance, so I will know if you step a toe out of line. I will be letting Mr. Potter know about what I said, see unlike you two, he would have not resorted to such a low idea such as fist fighting," I snort at that, but try to cover it up with cough.

She glares at me and I try to wipe the smirk off my face. "50 points will be taken from each of you," (more groans) "15 from you Mr. Malfoy."

I roll my eyes. Who gives a fuck about the House Cup anymore?

"All 3 of you will receive detention." Greaaaaat. "Mr. Malfoy, you will come to my office at 7 PM tomorrow night for yours. You two, you will serve it in my office all next week at the same time."

Only 1 day with McGonagall? Who said chivalry is dead! _Ha!_

"Now if you two can escort yourself out without killing each other I need to speak to Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy." She directs her attention at Thomas and Weasel, and they look at me with such scorn that I'm almost flattered. I mean, if I wasn't such a threat they'd have shrugged me off, right?

But then I realize what McGonagall just said; Granger and I look at each other confused, and then back at the teacher.

"Why does _he_ need to be here?"

"I don't appreciate that tone Mr. Weasley, I've had enough of this foolishness, now please leave. Both of you, _now_."

I just give them a nice smile as they get up and leave. Before the door slams, Ginger boy swears under his breath at me, and Thomas not pleased at all. Serves him right for failing to ignoring the provoke. I look to my right and Granger looks down-trodden; she seems so sad, I somehow want to make it stop.

_Wait._

Okay, what the _fuck_ is wrong with me. Wanting to sex her up is one thing – actual emotion is another.

I've never felt like this towards anybody; and I mean _anyone._ I don't know what it means.

I don't hug my parents, and I certainly don't coddle them. They used to spoil me, that stopped a long time ago. After Father found out I wasn't that amazing in school, and didn't befriend dear Potter, he lost interest in giving me things. Oh sure I get money, but the Malfoy's are the richest Wizarding family in Britain, that's kind of mandatory. I must look my best at least, or Father looks bad.

"Now, you two, what I wanted to discuss was about the music project."

I never really realized until 6th year of school that all I ever tried to do was impress Father, and all he ever tried to do was look good. And I don't think either of us succeeded. Look where he is, and look at how I am emotionally.

"The music project, Professor?"

Even if dear old Dad did have a small change of heart, last year was a little too late for it. And Mother. I mean, I know she always wanted nothing to do with Dark things; but what is she supposed to do once Voldemort is a daily routine in our house?

"Yes, Miss Granger, the project. Now I originally had you paired up with Dean, but…"

I suppose Mother got Snapey to save me from death, but apparently that was a planned event anyways. So I had to go through mental terrorism all of 6th year, tried to be deceptive all year, finally succeed and then they figure from the start I'm too much of a coward to do it. And I was.

"Mr. Malfoy, what is the matter with you? Please pay attention." I flick my head upwards, putting on the appearance that I actually listen to anything she says.

"Now, as I was saying…" I sneak a glance at Granger again, pretending to pay attention, but I can't stop the thoughts of what I dreamt a few nights ago. I'm still haunted and baffled by this memory that I managed to block out.

"…so essentially, since Dean is partnering with you, Hermione, and Cho Chang was supposed to be partners with Draco, I feel it would be best if you two would switch and partner with each other."

Oh, sod it. It'll just be another mystery of my twisted – WHAT!

"_Excuse_ _me?"_ I ask very offensively, rightfully so.

"Us? Partners? Professor, are you serious?" she breathes.

"Oh come now, surely you can put your differences aside this one time. Miss Granger, you know very well that you are one of the only people immune to shall we say, Mister Malfoy's obscenities." _Rude._ "And Mr. Malfoy, surely you are quite past the rubbish of the past 7 years? You seem to have changed quite a bit from what I've noticed in the past month. Surely you've come to realize that all this _blood _related nonsense is exactly that; nonsense."

"Well that isn't the point really, the point is that –" I begin, but she cuts me off.

'What? What is the point? The fact of the matter is that you 2 are far beyond the others even in the advanced class. It's really that simple. Why not work with someone who matches you in proficiency? And furthermore, Cho is scared of you Draco, with good reason, I'm afraid. It would be impossible to get anything done with her. And Dean is not to be your partner Hermione, because you know what that would do to Mr. Weasley, and I do not need another juvenile fight on my hands; they need time to cool down quite frankly."

"Putting me with someone they both hate, Harry included, who I'll have to spend a lot of time with won't exactly help either," she says evenly.

McGonagall sighs. "This decision is final. I will deal with any misfortunes that come with you two being partners, although it's hardly anyone's business what you two are doing together in and outside of class,"

Granger turns bright red, and so do I. Fuck, I keep forgetting she's seen me in my birthday suit. Oh well, at least my dick is nice. Looks big compared to the rest of my sack of bones.

"I trust you to be more mature than the rest of the students at school after all you both have had to deal with," and I'm surprised that she looks at me with an almost empathic look. "but apparently Mr. Weasley has forgotten about what went on last year, and hasn't learned his lesson yet." She sighs again. "Now please leave, I have work to do; we can further this discussion in class in 3 days' time."

Suddenly she looks like a defeated old woman, with the slouched manner she sits in and I decide to leave anything I have to say to her back in my lungs.

I mean, working with Granger won't kill me, will it?

_Probably will._

Fuck.

* * *

I have to work with him?

The bossy, rude, gorgeous, disgusting, Mudblood-hater?  
Wait- gorgeous…..Fruedian-slip. It's a Freudian slip!

This is going to be awful. I'm bossy too. We'll never make a decision on anything, and then never accomplish anything, thus failing the assignment. No, no we won't. But then I'll have to do it all myself.  
This is _terrible_.

Maybe I used to be 'immune to his obscenities'; but now I can't seem to stop thinking about them. I mean, when I was with Dean today, everything was lovely, I forgot all about Malfoy; but as soon as he swung at Ron…no. I'm not worth that sort of thing. It's our first date! That's ridiculous. I don't want people ruining their friendships over me, and he should've known better than to hit one of my best friends...or he used to be at least.

And I should feel mad at Malfoy too for cursing Ron. And I should hate him for everything he's done over the years, but somehow what he did today, and what he's been like this year has made me forget about everything he ever did before.  
And that's not good.

This whole situation is _not _good.


	14. Draco's Decision

**_If it's good to complicate then both of us are doing fine._**  
**_Just keep your eyes on your part and leave me alone to mine._**  
**_If it's good to instigate, we're a fast horse, bet on us._**  
**_I'm not calling you an animal; I think we just fight too much._**  
**_Hey now, in spite of this we're doing just fine_**  
**_Even diamonds start as coal._**  
**- _Diamonds and Coal_, Incubus**

* * *

"So," says Harry, putting the letter from McGonagall down, "I have to 'keep watch' over you from your 'admirers'."

He looks at me from across the Great Hall table, and raises his eyebrows, a hint of a humour glimmering in his green eyes.

I exhale and groan, hitting a hand to my forehead. "Honestly, this is most frustrating thing. Why can't Ron just get along? Why can't he just accept that we don't work together and let me be a free agent?"

"Well, you don't _really_ know that, do you?" Harry remarks unexpectedly, a question etched in his expression.

"W-what do you mean?" I reply unnerved.

"You broke up with Ron after he uh, tried to take your relationship further than you wanted, yes? But honestly, he felt like a right git after that. He said it was the biggest mistake he'd ever made, but he was just so smitten with you he couldn't help it. I mean, you know how it is with boys, don't you?" No, I don't.

"Well why didn't _he_ just _tell_ me that, instead of getting angry!" I cry. "He was so offended when I pushed him away, we'd only been dating for a month! Then he never wrote me when I left. I've never had a real relationship before, Harry, I don't know what I was doing," I gripe. Then I lower my voice, "I mean….do you have _sex _with someone after a few weeks of dating?" I look around, hoping nobody heard me.

Harry turns bright red. "Uhm, ahm, well I don't know. Depends on if you're ready I suppose." He says, and I stifle a laugh; he looks so awkward and adorable.

"He should've known I wasn't. I mean, the only other boy I've been interested in was Viktor, and we only kissed and exchanged letters. Oh god, I hate being so clueless," I cry, and smash my head against the table.

"Hermione?" Harry says, worried. "It's okay. This _will_ work out. I mean, Ron messed up big time, and even if you felt like you weren't ready he should have respected that and left you alone, but you know how he is. He`ll get over it, but he's going to be a baby for a few weeks. And anyways, now that Dean can't talk to you too, I'm sure he'll be able to recover easier."

"I suppose. I really wish we could've had what you and Ginny have," I sigh. Harry looks taken aback. "Oh come on, you two are perfect for each other even if you do fight occasionally."

Harry turns an even deeper scarlet but smiles. "I suppose you're right."

"It would be a lot better than this mess. I don't know, Harry. I mean, I just thought our conversations as a couple, you know, away from everyone else, would be engrossing. Like they are with Viktor," I think back to 4 years ago to the days leading up to the Yule Ball, and our letters. "But Ron is actually much the same around me alone as he is normally. Which is endearing and everything, but I don't feel special. I don't feel as if anything's changed except that we kiss and hold hands and aren't at each other's throats because neither of us admitted we liked each other."

Harry looks at me thoughtfully. "In other words, you felt too comfortable?"

"Yes, that's totally it! I never thought about it like that until you said it aloud, but that _is _what it was! Too familiar." I murmur.

"Other than that are you alright? You really seem put out," Harry asks and I cringe.

I am _not_ telling him about Malfoy, oh definitely not. I resolved it 2 days ago when McGonagall told me; I am going to plead to Dean (I know it breaks the rules we were given, but to be honest I'm less cross at him than a certain ginger boy) and Seamus to not tell him or Ron, who'd probably kill Malfoy on sight if he found out.

This is horrid: the whole project is ruined for me now. Malfoy and I? _Together? _There's too much history and awkward tension this year for us to get along.

"Hermione?"

_OH MY GOD_. Spring break is only a couple weeks away! We're going to have to work on it over it which means…he's going to have to come to my house.

_My house._

My entire family is coming over for Easter dinner this year. I haven't seen them in a very long time. I'm _not_ staying in Hogwarts just to suffer through a project. And I am most certainly not going to _his _home. Not after what happened in it last year…

_- "FILTHY LITTLE MUDBLOOD!"_ -

I shake my head and cringe, Harry gazing at me intently, concerned.

"Hermione…?"

"Sorry, sorry, yes I'm fine." He raises his eyebrows again, and throws his hands up in defeat.

"Whatever you say. In any case, I'll keep away your lovers until you're ready to face them," Harry smirks playfully. I give a weak smile in return.

Speaking of lovers…I see Ron bustling towards us from the Great hall entrance, and my back stiffens in discomfort. Oh god, what does he want? He looks surprisingly…cheerful. Overly so in fact.

"Hi Harry, 'Mione," he says in that brusque voice of his. "Food good for lunch today?" he asks sitting down next to me. I look at him puzzled, and Harry looks at me with an unbelieving look.

"Ron, what are you doing?" Harry inquires quietly.

"Eating lunch, of course, what do you mean -?" he looks around at me and he clues in finally, frowning now. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Um, well." I whisper.

"You aren't technically allowed to be hanging around her, Ron. Here look," Harry shoves the paper at him and I inwardly groan; that was a mistake.

Ron scans it and laughs hollow, "What, you can't be serious? Are you actually expecting me, your best friend, to not hang around with you? "

He looks from me to Harry, and back to me again. His smile of disbelief when I don't reply fades to a scowl.

"Hermione?"

"Well…I mean, I wouldn't let Dean hang around me when he isn't supposed to, so it wouldn't be fair for me to let you." I respond quietly.

"This isn't fair to me, either! If Harry is supposed to be 'watching you', how am I supposed to see him? He's my best friend too!"

He's really angry.

"It's your fault Ron, you can't get mad when you overreacted, and it isn't like I'm going to just be around Hermione all the time, honestly." Harry's getting irritated too apparently.

"Overreacted? You're joking! One of my 'supposed' friends tries to snatch my ex-girlfriend, who by the way happens to still be my good friend, and who I happen to still care for, and you think I'm overreacting? And more than that the girl I care about _likes_ him back? Yeah, it's _sooooo_ my fault." I feel myself frowning and putting my eyes to the floor shamefully.

I guess when you rationalize it that way, I do sound like quite the…well, bitch.  
I am so stupid.

But honestly, I don't even want to speak to him the way he's been acting lately. I suppose that after all those years of us hiding the fact we liked each other, that he was disappointed we lasted as a couple for such a short period. That doesn't mean that my feelings don't matter though, I felt like all he wanted was to kiss me, and do other things. Because he already knew me like the back of his hand. That's what he told me the first night we spent alone-alone together. We were friends for 6 years. So what else would be left to find out?

_A lot_. I wanted to have conversations about what we really thought about things, things you guard and hide from even your greatest of friends, but every time I tried, he just said it was too heavy a conversation for 'right now'.

Still doesn't mean I don't love him; just not like I thought. _Sigh._

"Ron, please. I just…I just need some time alone, okay? _Please._" Ron crosses his arms with a puzzled expression, like he isn't sure if he should go or not: fighting an inner battle.

I roll my eyes and get up, grabbing my books. "Fine, _I'll_ leave then," and swish past him pretentiously. "I have to go to class anyways," I humph, nodding to Harry before I go, and proceed to walk to the year 7 practice room, since I have almost an hour before class.

As I make my way up to the tower I suddenly remember that McGonagall is assigning partners today, and now everyone will know we're going to be partners. Malfoy and I. God, he's so irritating.

He's so… repulsive, but at the same time he can just look at me and reduce me to jelly.

For Merlin's sake, why can't anything just work out? Why can't I stop being a hormonal whiny girl and be a rational human being. Sometimes I wish I didn't force myself to stay calm all the time, so I could let this pent up frustration out on somebody who'll listen to me.  
Stupid boys.

* * *

Hmm, so today's the day isn't it?

Lucky me, I'm going to receive the privilege of being spit upon by the entire school because I'm partnered with a saint and a hero, Hermione Granger. For _one_ imprudent, fucking project. I mean honestly, after having left McGonagall's office 2 days ago, I didn't fully realize the magnitude of what she's letting us get into.

The break in a few weeks is one we'll have to spend together, not that I'm even complaining, cause I like pushing her buttons and making her squirm; but because of the way my mind works when she's around me. I want to fuck her. That is that.

More than that, though, is that I don't seem to hate her anymore apparently, because why else would I have cursed Weasley into the next dimension? It's as if I want her all to myself to torture and tease her. Or seduce her.

I could probably do it too, if I were nice enough.

Right?

Of course I could. But that isn't what's bothering me at the moment. It's, _where_ are we going to work? I mean, unless we stay here at ol' Hoggy Woggy's which I most definitely am not, she'll have to come over. And after last year…even I don't want to force her to relive those memories of dear Auntie Bella. And I'm sure my mother agrees.

I am _not_ going to the Muggle world, most definitely not.

Though I'm quite over the bigotry that I've had imposed upon me for the past 17 years, I…should I even admit it? I'm _scared_ of Muggles.

All I've ever heard from dear old Dad is how disgusting they are, and how communicating with them is a sin. But we all know where Lucius Malfoy ended up with his rigid beliefs on his tirade to be the best.

So I've been trying in the past few months to come up with my own conclusions about what everything means…and sadly I don't yet, I've got no idea. All I've come to realize is that being a nasty, conniving person doesn't get you shit in the end, my parents are proof of that. What does that leave me with? I _am_ a nasty, conniving person, and I always have been. Now that I'm not feeling like that Draco anymore, I have no idea who I am or should be now, and it's stressing me out.

All I know that I like is piano, Quidditch, and booze, and none of those things I am approved of for doing: I can't play Quidditch this year, my Mom hates the piano, and booze is disagreeable with my basically non-existent diet.

Wow, how the hell did I get to thinking about all _that_ with thinking of seducing Granger?

I sigh dejectedly and strike a hard, awful sounding note-combination on the piano with all my fingers. I'm frustrated, I don't know what else I can do besides take out my frustration on my instrument. Kicking someone else's prized possession, except maybe Dean's stupid guitar, is too cruel.

Since nobody is in here, I'm practicing in the seventh year room, just a few songs to keep me sane before the inevitable awkwardness that's going to happen in 40 minutes time.

I decide I'm going to play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, and start hammering the notes. I get so concentrated that I ignore looking at the door when it's opened by someone. Personally, I don't really even want to see whoever's there because all I'll probably get is a frown anyways.

When I'm about to finish I hear the starting notes of strings. _Oh, no._

I gently turn myself around and walk back to the bookshelf nonchalantly to make it seem like I'm oblivious to anyone else being here. I place the composition back onto to the proper ledge, and look out of the corner of my eye. And it's her all right. Granger. I can see the goose egg on her head from here.

I don't recognize what she's playing, but it's really sad. She's closing her eyes gently, while her hands move vigorously across her instrument. God, why is talent and dedication such a turn on?

Just breathe. Deep breath, _breathe, _okay. Just pick out your next piece and go sit back down; ignore your hormones.

I grab a random book and return to my seat. I look at the cover, put it down then shake my head and laugh at the irony of it: Chopin's _Funeral March_. Definitely gets the sentiment right of my life's future.

"What are you laughing about?" comes the girly voice to my left. I look with as much scorn as I can muster (which is not much) at Granger, trying to keep my usual persona on.

She has her bow in mid-air, and she looks….vulnerable. _Ohhhh, she thought I was laughing at her._ "Nothing, Granger," I say to her innocently, and she frowns like she isn't convinced for a second that I wasn't laughing at her. Like good old times. It isn't every day that she actually reacts to me.

_Yeah, but you only like it _because_ she's reacting to you. _Oh, shut the hell up brain.

"I don't appreciate you mocking my playing, thank you very much!" she practically shouts at me, crossing her arms in annoyance and throwing the bow on the ground beside her case. Okay this isn't normal, she hasn't snapped at me since 3rd year.

"I wasn't mocking you, '_actually',"_ I imitate her shrill voice.

"Then why _were _you laughing?" she retorts and I sigh. I guess I might as well get this over with and put her on the spot, considering it would be better now while we're alone than in Music class.

"I was merely laughing at the dilemma of our situation, Granger. And the irony of the fact you're here with me alone, as that's probably how the next few weeks are going to be." I smile at her sardonically, when in reality I do get some pleasure from this situation; she's squirming in her seat. I like having an effect on her.

She says nothing, so I continue. "Which leads me to question, what exactly are we going to do over the break? I for one am certainly not staying here at Hogwarts. I never have for a break, and I'm not staring now."

"I'm not staying her either, actually, Malfoy. So I guess in order to work on it you'll just have to…come to my house." She doesn't sound as convincing a she'd like, sounds a bit defenseless. My mouth just gapes from her nerve to say that, my eyes are wide in disbelief.

I look down my nose at her, defiant, with a chuckle at my lips. "Seriously? _Me?_ You think _I'm_ going to visit your precious Muggle world just for a project?" I laugh emptily. "Why would you even let me in your home?"

"Well I'm positively _not_ going to that, that house of YOURS," she emphasizes and I almost feel insulted. "After last year, do you really expect me to even want to step foot a mile away from your house?"

She says it with a note of desperation, and I almost feel taken aback. I don't think I'm evil enough to talk anymore about the manor, just in case she starts crying from the memory, because then what am I going to do? Girls crying not only annoy me, but it's my weak spot. I hate seeing my mother cry and I _hated _when Pansy used to obnoxiously whine, it was such a turn off.

"What do you _suggest_ then?" I sneer. This will not end well.

Truly contemplating this situation, I think to myself that I know she is stubborn enough to not comply with me should I force her to come see me. Then she would do the project herself so she wouldn't fail. Normally I wouldn't even care about failing in a situation like this, but this is Granger we're talking about; the girl who beats me at everything. If we're presenting this and I don't…then everyone will just look at me like I'm a stupid loser, and worse as prejudiced because I wouldn't work with the stupid Mudblood.

"I don't know…" she finally utters quietly, not being bossy for once. But making it more complicated at the same time.

I really _can't_ make her come to my house, I feel myself deciding. And honestly, I think mother would have a fit if she found out a lesser blood was coming over anyways. Especially one that's been in her home before, and one that has a history with me. But I do _not_ want to go to Muggle central, considering her family wouldn't approve of me hanging around their 'perfect' daughter, and I don't want to meet them. But it's almost as if I have no choice. _Sigh._

Well if I have to admit defeat I'm milking it as much as possible.

"Granger," I question, and she looks from the ground into my eyes, her own sad, almost desperate. "Say I _were_ to agree with you, and visit your…'home'." Her back straightens and her eyebrows furrow curiously. "If I said yes would you 1) let me pick who we focus on, 2) let me come by the Floo Network, or apparate, I don't care which 3) let us work on it when I say so, and 4) not go outside at any cost?"

"What! ?"

"It's the least you can do, is it not? I have to go to a world I've never been in before, why can't I do it on my schedule? And why should I have to go be a Muggle when I don't need to?"

She look furious, and she'd even be hot if she wasn't being resistant to my wishes.

"First of all, Malfoy, and let me make this clear:" She stands up as if that will intimidate me. "Even if I let you choose who we do, and I'm betting it will not be a wizard band, but a _Muggle_ composer," I scowl at this, "that going to the library and book or music stores in the 'Muggle world' will be of a great help because we can find books and biographies on him or her." _Ugh, I never thought of that._

"Second, no I don't care if you apparate, but we are to both to decide on a time, because I have family coming, and I _know _you won't want to meet them, nor would I like you to. Third, I like to work in a very concentrated manner, I've hardly had to work in groups, so you're going to have to co-operate otherwise I'm just going to have to do it myself, and all you'll get to say was you picked the person."

Well she certainly ruined the fun of that.

"Finally, I – "

"Fine." She's aiming a finger at me threateningly and freezes mid-point when she realizes what I've said.

"F-fine? That's it, just…_fine?"_

"Yep. I tire of this, to be honest. I already knew this whole exercise would be like pulling out teeth, so as long as I get some of my way, I'll attempt to be er, somewhat accommodating." She looks at me like she's thinking: "_You, accommodating?"_

"Oh don't give me that look; it isn't as if you're dealing with somebody stupid, Granger. How else do you think I made it to NEWT level courses?" she snorts at this but I ignore it. "And besides, if we write on someone interesting maybe I'll be more willing to pitch in, anyone you would've picked would've been dull as hell." I swivel around and flip open Chopin, ending our conversation (I love when I get the last word.) I begin to play the Funeral March.

"That seems quite fitting," she lashes at me, and I laugh again. It's strange how we seem to always end up on the same brainwave or thought.

She gathers up her violin, grabs her jacket and bag, then storms out of the room.

"See you in cla-ass," I ring out merrily.

Muggle meetings will definitely suck, but I quite like her when she's angry. Somewhat arousing.  
And she's going to be like that the entire project, lucky me.

* * *

I _hate _him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!

I don't even want him to come over at all, why didn't I just stay here? Oh, but then he would've gone home anyways, and then there would be no point of me just waiting until he had a free day. I wonder what he does in his stupid manor anyways.

_Probably just drinks until he has a buzz and invites Pansy over to have sex with her._

I stop in my fuming tracks. Where did _that_ come from?

I'm just all over the place. How in god's name am I going to tell Mum that he has to come over? Even if they don't know who he is or what he's done to me over the years, he's still a boy. And if the project is really elaborate, he may have to meet them.

No, no, no no no!

If only I wasn't such a wimp. I wouldn't even feel that troubled going to see Narcissa Malfoy, after what she did for Harry. Even though it was really for Draco. Malfoy should really be more grateful to have at least one caring parent, even though she probably never told him the reason Harry survived was because of her. That would be far too much shame to admit to her son; after all Harry was his arch-nemesis.

I just _can't _stomach walking into that horrid drawing room and reliving the memories of Bellatrix. I can't do it. I was going to suggest that we meet halfway and i'll go to his house one day if he comes to mine he next, but he agreed. I was so taken aback that I didn't know what to say.

_What the hell goes on in his head?_

As I continue walking to the Tower, my thoughts are interrupted by a hesitant voice.

"Her- Hermione. Are you alright? I'm sorry I know I shouldn't say anything but – "

_Oh god, it's Dean._

"No, it's okay Dean, just make sure Ron isn't here. I'm alright, just – err, just stressed about school," I force a laugh.

"I think everyone is. Hey, did you find out who your partner was for Music?"

I go rigid but keep on smiling. "Oh, n-no, what are you talking about?"

"Oh, that's weird. McGonagall sent out these little letters I guess this morning, telling us who are partners were and we shouldn't tell people to create an air of 'mystery' so our presentation will be better. What a bunch of tripe," he chuckles. He looks at me grinning, and I shrilly laugh like he said something funny. "She's probably just saying that so nobody gets jealous at someone else for getting their best friend or something. She said that instead of just mixing up the Advanced etc, she's mixed up all of the seventh years. Funny, huh?" _That_ is _weird….she said Malfoy and I were a good match because we were equal in 'proficiency'._

"I got Lavender, euch," he pulls a face but shrugs it off. He's never been one to take things very seriously. I return the grimace and he laughs.

"Yeah I know, she kind of ruined your life for a minute, but at least she won't hit on me like she used to if she likes a git like Ron," he chuckles. I try to chuckle too, but I realize that's true. And I'm suddenly mad all over again at Lavender and even a bit envious of Ron: somebody likes him enough to sabotage relationships for him.

"Oh, sorry. Should I stop talking about him?"

"No, it's okay."

"Are you mad at me?"

"I wish you would've handled the situation better, and listened to me. Ron hates me now, not that I'm not upset, it's just ludicrous. McGonagall wants you away from me, but he's the one who hit me. I was just trying to not break up a friendship and I-" I find my voice wobbly, and I'm horrified. Hold yourself together, goodness Hermione.

"Hey, don't worry about it." he says. "I am sorry. Shouldn't have done it," he shrugs again, though sadder now. "But you know, he'll get over it. He just cares about you. Maybe he'll fall for Lavender again."

"I guess you're right. God, I'm glad you're not so upset about it." No sour grapes, I admire him a bit right now, not a lot of guys would even say anything so realistic and nice.

"I like you, Hermione. I acted like an idiot. I'm not going to push it."

"And why would Ron?"

"Ron doesn't understand that it hurts you and he more when you're fighting to be a couple than it is just staying friends. He's a jealous type, probably just never wanted it to end – I don't blame him," he winks at me.

"Well we're early, guess there's no harm in sitting out here and talking," I say gently, smiling faintly.

"I guess not; well when somebody comes, I'll zip my lip, don't want to get into more detention," he says annoyed.

We converse for a good 15 minutes, and then from behind us we hear someone talking to us.

"Breaking the rules are we, Granger? Tsk, tsk, didn't think you'd ever disobey the headmaster."

"Shut up, Malfoy. McGonagall said until she was ready to talk to us we were to leave her alone, so obviously if we're having an enjoyable chat, she's okay with it."

He sneers at him, and plops onto the bench next to me where Dean and I have settled ourselves.

"Who would ever enjoy a conversation with _her_?"

I feel myself turning red. "Malfoy! If you don't stop insulting me I'll-"

Suddenly, the door swooshes open and McGonagall's pointy hat appears.

'What is all this fuss I hear…?" She holds a slightly bewildered expression at the sight of 3 teenagers who shouldn't be sitting on a bench together and then beckons us to come inside.

"You 3 sit down, _away_ from each other. _It's like dealing with toddlers, I tell you…"_ she mutters and I look at Dean; we share the same offended expression.

After a few minutes everyone's arrived, considering there's only 8 people in the class that isn't anything special. Everyone is whispering curiously about who is partnering who (Cho questioned me, probably the first time she's spoken to me directly since fifth year after she thought Harry fancied me). McGonagall however clears her throat and steps in, abruptly ending all exchanged banter.

"I know you are all excited about finding out who your partners are, but I encourage you not discuss it, as it will be much more amusing to your peers on presentation day to find out who got who," she smiles tightly, and it's obvious everyone can see right through her façade. But it comes as a relief to me, and evidently Malfoy, who is nodding his head and even darts a look in my direction for which I give a small approving look. I wonder if she did this just for us?

Of course that would be nonsense, but I expect after all these years she's probably tired of dealing with Harry, Ron and I, and especially Malfoy.

"Now as I said last week; You are discovering more about one artist, composer, or group. I will be handing out a package to each of you that explains in full detail the requirements of the assignment. You will be making a 15 – 20 presentation on your person or persons," groans fill the room, "and that includes your performance piece, so please do not pick a song that is more than 7 or 8 minutes. I cannot stress enough that you are attempting to educate your peers on this person, so visual or audio aid will most likely help you greatly. Someone may pick the same group as you, I think it is unfair to make a sign up sheet, and so you need to make _your_ knowledge stand out. If you know anyone who is Muggle-born or a half-blood who can get access to such Muggle materials, assuming you pick somebody non-Wizard, then by all means ask them for help," she looks thoughtfully at me and Dean, and we awkwardly smile at everyone who's staring at us fascinated.

McGonagall continues talking about the project and though I know I have to partner with Malfoy, and will have a lot of friends mad at me because I didn't tell them until the day of the presentation he was my partner, I'm excited. It sounds like loads of fun, and I have a ton of ideas…I guess I just have to wait until Malfoy tells me who he wants to pick.

If it _is_ a composer, I hope they don't lead a boring life. I know he won't pick Mozart or Beethoven, who had really interesting lives, because they're too 'well known', and not as dignified as his stupid Chopin. I want a composer who used violin _and_ piano.

I guess I'm going to have to pray for a miracle.


	15. Drunk in Section B

_**She says, I don't take her seriously**_  
_**And I don't, so I guess I'd have to agree**_  
_**I didn't mean that; I really mean that**_  
_**I know, she gets mad at me all the time**_  
_**But that's fine, I don't let it ruin my night**_  
_**I didn't mean that; I really mean that**_

_**I watch what I say, say what I should**_  
_**Something you said I misunderstood**_  
_**I'll figure it out as soon as I figure it out**_

_**- **_**Figure it Out, Plain White T's**

* * *

"Ey, Malfoy! Who's your partner?"

Nott is calling me obnoxiously across the common room. Ugh, all everybody is talking about these days is who is pairing up with whom. _Who's your partner?, Who's _your_ partner? Who's your goddamn partner!_ It seems that the fifth and sixth years were also assigned a partner project, and nobody can shut up about whether they are excited or disappointed with their chosen cohort.

Not that I'm unhappy with this decision among my peers. Thankfully, nobody seems to be talking about what happened in Hogsmeade, though that may be because it was mostly townspeople and few students who saw what happened. I'm sure the Gryffindor's are hush-hush if they _do_ talk about it, considering Potter and Thomas would tell them off for mentioning it. And in any case, they'd probably be scared that Weasel might have a fit and smack them upside the head.

I, at the current moment, am preoccupied with a little piece of parchment.

"_Malfoy,_

_We need to discuss our first meeting date, preferably alone, I think you'll agree. Tonight I will be busy with charms homework, so meet me tomorrow in Section B of the library during dinner, 7Pm,…please. If not, well then I guess we'll either have to owl each other or talk during Music, but I hope you can be an adult about this,_

_H."_

Granger just sidles up to me yesterday after Music, catches my gaze for mere seconds and drops this little note in my hand before striding away as if nothing happened. What the _fuck._

She wants me _alone,_ she specifically said 'alone'. But why? Why must she keep creating situations which I could potentially become aroused. Seriously. It's becoming a problem. I've found myself…thinking about her. Thinking about her when I should be studying. Or sleeping. Or … bathing.

It doesn't help that she has no idea she has this effect on me, not as if I'm going to tell her. If she knew she'd probably get freaked out being the prude she is, and leave me the hell alone. That might be a good thing though, right?

Damn it all to hell, i'm immersed too deep to stop this now! This is such an intimate form of communication, this letter….girls are crazy.

Nott, having realized that I will ignore him until he comes and talks to me properly, is sauntering over here, so I quickly shove the note in my trousers' pocket.

"Malfoy," he says as he sits next to me. I turn to simply look at him, acknowledging his presence. "So who'd ya get?"

I sigh loudly and give him a piercing look that says I don't want to discuss it.

"Oh come on, Malfoy. You used to tell everyone everything! Used to be hilariously evil, and now all you do is sit around with a constipated expression like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Why don't you tell me what's wrong, maybe I can help? Otherwise, liven up a bit!"

Nott really has a way with words, doesn't he? _Obviously_ with such eloquent speaking I am going to open up to him with all my problems…

He's not going to leave me alone, is he?

"Fine, who did _you_ get?" I question in a mocking tone, though Nott misses the imitation.

"Nobody good," he says with a sudden fearful expression. "I'm going to _die!_"

Hm, now I'm curious. And Nott is a git.

"Okay, so you berate me for not being 'myself' anymore, and yet you won't return the favour of informing me of your partner? You only want to hear what _you_ want to know, you bastard," I say viciously, and Nott smiles faintly.

"There you go, classic Malfoy. And it's embarrassing who I got…." He trails off.

"Oh Merlin, Nott, just tell me. Remember, I _am_ your superior," I drawl, putting a hand ridiculously to my chest and raising my head up.

Nott laughs, "You mean you _were_ my superior. And yeah, as if that ever convinced me before_._ Don't be quick to forget I never joined your stupid exclusive group because I didn't need to. I had a reputable father, in Slytherin terms at least, just as you did, only my father didn't run scared. The Malfoy's are garbage now," he says bitingly, and I raise my eyebrows. I guess the boy _can_ insult. All this time I thought he was just a doof, like Weasley.

"Very good, Nott. You made a good comeback for once, your family must be so proud," I say a bit more angrily than I mean to.

He looks a bit taken aback, but I continue, "Anyways, if you share your information on who you received, than maybe, _just_ maybe, I will tell you who I got." He looks unconvinced.

"It's very in-_ter_-est-ing!" I draw out, and he tilts his head to the side.

"I don't know…it isn't just _who_ I got, but what they said to me after we talked about the project to each other that's unsettling," he says uncomfortably. Okay, now I _definitely _need to know.

What I think he needs to open up (and _I _need to meet a certain woman) is a little liquid courage.

I stand up, Nott following my tracks with his curious eyes, and I turn around once I reach the stairs.

"Come on up to the room Nott, and I'll share something with you." I stick out my tongue lewdly at him and clamber up the dorm steps. I plonk myself onto the bed to find Nott hesitantly appearing at the door frame.

"Well get in here and shut the door, idiot!" I shout. He cautiously closes the wooden door and I mutter an incantation towards it with my wand so no one can hear our conversation.

"What're we doing, exactly?"

"Having a drink," I reply, and reach into the drawer on my night table, grabbing some Blishen's Premium Firewhiskey and shot glasses which I had previously retrieved from my suitcase.

"_Are you crazy, Malfoy?"_ he whispers.

"No need to be quiet, I've put a spell on the door."

"If someone catches us…"

"Are you a Slytherin, or _what?_" I ask, almost appalled that he's acting as cautious as Granger. Ugh, Granger!

"Well I just mean….McGonagall would kill us. I think Dumbledore would've let us off with a warning, stating that's what 'teenagers have been tempted to do throughout the ages'. You know, being the old pushover he was, but –"

"_If_ we get caught," I interrupt icily, as I _hate_ hearing his name aloud. I know Nott knows what I was assigned to do 2 years ago, and I can't take his name being mentioned so blatantly when the person who says it knows what happened. "Which we won't because a) even if we _do_ get a little bit tipsy, we can blame it on lack of sleep from too much work, and b) we're both 18 years old and allowed to buy it. I know it's prohibited within the castle, but who the hell cares? I've heard countless stories about parties the seventh years had thrown, and tons more about other houses sneaking it in and selling to the minors. So calm your arse down, and get on my bed."

He looks at me with a scared expression, almost questioningly. "Oh come on, you're really going to chicken out?"

I pour the (ahem, very expensive) alcohol into the shots, hand one to Nott as he finally sits down and cheers. Though he looks reluctant, he swigs it back when I do, shuddering at the fiery aftertaste. I'm used to that by now.

"So, why the booze?"

"Well, it will loosen you up so you can tell me about your endeavours with a certain someone, which I suspect is a girl," he blushes. "And _I_ figured, that if I were to tell you what I am about to, that I need an excuse to convince myself I _should _have told you in the first place should it backfire; drunkenness is my best lie."

He raises an eyebrow, interested. I sigh. I pour myself another shot and knock it back; Nott is looking impressed, but masked under skepticism so he doesn't _appear_ to be envious of my drinking skill.

"You go first," I prompt. It isn't a suggestion, it's a command.

"Okay well…I got..Millicent."

I halt for a moment and put my glass down on the night table.

Then the laughter begins; and I can't stop. Ha, ha ha. Ha!

"Shut up, it's _not_ funny!" he pouts.

Oh but it's just _too_ funny. _Ha ha ha ha ha. _My sides are splitting from the hilarity.

Nott the womanizer with Millicent; the no wit and no beauty. Likely worst match ever. Or perhaps from my perspective, the best match in the history of bad matches.

"You said she said something questionable to you after you were assigned, what did she say?" I ask, and he cringes. "Oh please, do tell. Here have another drink," I say and shove the bottle towards him, spilling it slightly.

He exhales. "Well she was _really_ excited, you see. But I don't know why. She's never shown any interest in me before, but maybe it's because I'm a Slytherin?"

"Or she wants to ride you like a pony." I snort and hiccup at the same time.

"Ewwwww, NO. No, no , no, why would you _say that! ?"_

Can you imagine that scenario? Nott is like a spindle, and Millicent is boxy shaped and taller than me, almost as tall as him. Nott would have a fractured spine by the end of that sexual encounter.

"Because it might be true." I tease. "I mean think about it, Millicent has been turned down by a lot of boys. Now you have the chance, well you are forced to have the opportunity, to get to know her, maybe she thinks you'll be attracted to her. She's desperate for some affection. And anyways, she can't be all bad," I say, though my composure slips while I say it.

Nott looks utterly horrified. "Oh god, she did say that she wanted me to come over to her house, seeing as it may be uncomfortable for me to have company over 'because of your family's status last year.' At the time I just thought it was being considerate but oh god, oh god, oh god. She wants to _fuck me!_"

"Aww, how sweet of her," I say, and I actually half mean it. At least she understands the situation that Nott was in, though I hardly think she _just_ wants to have sex with him. "Well maybe you'll lose your virginity Nott, she'll probably do anything you say; bet she's freaky in the bedroom," I wink.

He blushes crimson and smacks me in the leg. 'Stop it. I mean, okay, she's no Astoria or anything, but I kind of feel sorry for her. She has nobody to hang out with. She can barely find solace in sixth or fifth years, and they're all scared of her. Maybe I should try and think of this as a good thing. She reached out to me and didn't act like I was disgusting, so that has to mean something, even if it _is_ creepy."

"I suppose," I counter. "Sounds like you put a lot of thought into that. Maybe you, oh I don't know, _LIKE_ her," I point out, giggling like a moron. Revenge for all these Granger accusations.

"I do _not_. Anyways, enough about fucking Millicent, we can talk about her later. Who did you get, I'm dying here!"

I roll my eyes, then proceed to rifle through my pocket and clutch the note, and throw it at him once I've managed to pull it out. Guess it can't be avoided now.

A third beverage slips down my throat as I spectate Nott's expression as he reads the paper. I'm feeling a buzz now, having not eaten anything but a single waffle today, and I slam the cup onto the bedside, waiting for my 'friend' to say something.

Finally he breathes, "_Oh my god."_

"Yep."

"So she's your…?"

"Mmhmm."

"Wow."

"McGonagall told me after I threw that hex at Weasel that I was to be her partner, idiotic huh? She was supposed to be with Dean, but –" I hiccup and yawn simultaneously, "she said _I _should go, isn't that ridiculously stupid!"

"It's kind of ironic on Hermione's part that you like her even though she hates you and now you get to be alone with her." He says dryly.

"Hey!" I smack him lightly on the leg. She can't possibly _hate_ me, anymore, can she? Well, I would if I were her, fuck why do I care? "I do_ not_ fancy her! I want to shag her, there's a difference ya know."

He grins. "I suppose so. Except that you cursed Weasley for no reason. Normally you would have relished the fact that a Mudblood was being hurt, but instead you saved someone you only 'want to shag.'"

A sharp realization courses through my brain, and I know he's right. He must see my face because he changes the topic quickly, apparently not wanting me to rage drunkenly at him.

"Anyways, that's weird that she wants to meet you alone, huh?"

I compose myself. "Well, old McG said that Granger was one of the only people 'immune' to my personality or something like that, and so I guess she was expecting her to be able to handle me better than most. She said we 'matched in proficiency' for skill level, and I would probably be more willing to work with her than with Cho Chang, who I would've gotten, haha. It's true, I hate that Ravenclaw bitch."

"Whooaaa, harsh words."

"She's too shy. And she touched my piano. _My _piano!" I jut my finger into his stomach to make a point. Wow, I really am tipsy….well, it's been almost 3 months since I drank like this, what can you expect.

"Anyways, what was I saying? Oh yes, I figure she doesn't want dear Ronnie and Pocketwatch to be worried about her, seeing as I have to go _her_ stupid house during the break. Weasley would have an absolute fit. But I find it weird because she was talking to Thomas all friendly like yesterday, so she obviously has no trouble breaking the rules against him and Weasel talking to her. So why not just let Potter rage at McGonagall for picking me so I don't have to do this?"

"Oh, come off it! You love pushing her buttons, Drakes. You like teasing her. Be happy you don't have to deal with Potter and Weasley, and see what you can manage to do," he says with a twinkle in his eye, and I let out a chortle. He's quite right you know.

"Hm, I'll keep you posted on that front. But I have to say, I don't know why I've decided to drink this much before I go see her, it won't really help the delicate nature of the 'private' part of this situation." Haha, _private part._

"You're nervous, Draco. Maybe your calm and collectiveness slips when she's around, so you might as well have a fallback reason as to why you act that way?"

"Nahh," I say even though he's pretty much right. "I think I just want to have fun with this scenario."

"Sure, sure, whatever puts you to sleep man."

Nott and I exchange banter for a few more minutes, mostly him talking about Astoria and the model Gloria Evencleave, while we sit and enjoy 2 more shots each.

"Oh buckets, its 6:45. I should probably get going….I want to be 'punctual, like a good student'" I mock Granger's stroppy voice, and Nott laughs. He's shitfaced too now. Lightweight, isn't he?

"Before I go, my dear sir," I say obnoxiously as I twirl around the room with a finger pointed into the air like a pompous aristocrat (aka Father), "I have to ask; is this your first time enjoying the sweet nectar of men?"

"No.." he blushes crimson, "About my third." He's only been drunk 3 times? Psh.

I strip off my school robes ceremoniously, dumping them into my dresser and replace my bare chest with a dark green V-neck t-shirt, and school tie. I feel far too flushed to be out and about with long sleeves!

"Urgh, what else do I need?" I feel like I'm missing something.

"Well you're just figuring out the date of meeting, right? So nothing," Nott states while idly flipping through his _Seductress_ magazine, looking away from my nudity, and grabbing at his crotch like I'm not here. Evidently, he's a horny drunk.

Lucky him, I'm horny _and_ an idiot.

"Of course, well wish me luck!"

I'm about to walk out the door when Nott giggles and suddenly lunges to pull me backwards by the shoulder, "Pshh shh shh, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" he laughs softly then loudly.

"What was that for? !"

"Well, you know, you might want to put on some pants."

I look down to see my bare, blonde hair-covered legs with simple black socks on and fuchsia boxer briefs.

"Good call."

* * *

"Thank the house-elves it's almost dinner time," Harry states as his stomach grumbles loudly. We're in the common room, revising some Potions notes for our test before the break next Tuesday. I smile weakly, and look at the time. 6:40_. Oh Merlin, I don't want to go_.

On a whim, I think I'm just going to tell Harry where I'm going, leaving out the Malfoy part of course. I figure it's less suspicious telling him beforehand than just sneaking off while in the midst of walking to dinner.

"Speaking of supper, I – I need to go look for a book in the library for the examination, immediately actually. Something factual about the Wolfsbane and Wormwood concoctions are seriously bugging me, and I need to go read up on it again. It's going to be nagging at me all night if I don't." I say this matter-of-factly and Harry rolls his eyes, but sports a little grin.

"Really, Hermione? You're going to skip a meal just to do _research_?"

"Do you know me at all?" I mock him lightly. "If I don't know something already, I need to know _no-owww"_ I say, exaggerating my usual perfectionist tone.

"I'm glad to see that after all these years, you've never changed," he teases, pushing me lightly in a friendly manner.

I give a silent sigh of relief that he doesn't suspect anything. Well why would he? If I'm not eating, sleeping, worried about schoolwork, friends and boy drama, I'm reading. "It's a wonder you always manage to do so well after hanging out with such un-studious gits like Ron and I for 8 years."

I give a laugh, and then hug him quickly, before getting off the couch. "Well, you know how much I hate failing," I retort, thinking of my ridiculous Boggart. 'And…at least you can have some time with Ron," I say flippantly; he simply nods not wanting to further that into and awkward conversation. I grab my bookbag and wave to him. "Enjoy dinner!"

"If you find the book before it's over come to the Great Hall. You were stressing out all day today, you need to eat," he teases. I reply that I won't be long before exiting from Gryffindor tower, pinching my stomach self-consciously.

{}

Alright, where the hell _is_ he?

I left deliberately early so this could be over in a flash if he happened to arrive first.

It is now 7:21 and I am tapping my quill impatiently on a blank piece of parchment, a decoy book open at my desk. Seriously, _me._ _I_ have a decoy book! Mind you, it's _Hogwarts: A History_ and I've read it front to back about 15 times. It's not as if anything new will fascinate me.

Stupid Malfoy. I've yet to tell mum that he's coming over a lot on the break, but I figured that he could come over for the first work period on Friday, which is next weekend. I can inform my parents of his arrival when I travel home come Thursday. I'm just going to have to tell Harry and Ginny in the near future that I have family coming all 2 weeks, so I can't see them during the break. They'll understand…I hope; it's not like they can prove me wrong unless they show up on my doorstep.

This whole task is going to be agonizing.

A few more silent minutes pass. _Where is that git!_ I really hope he decided to come; a response from an owl isn't reliable, and I hardly want to talk to him openly in class to give our partnership away.

I look down on my paper and see that it has _"DM!_" written on it. No! I scribble it furiously out. Why did I doodle his initials?

"HEY, Granger!" a pair of male hands grab at my shoulders and I nearly shriek from horror.

I turn around to see Malfoy grinning like an idiot, but not in the usually pretentious way he does.

"Jesus, Malfoy! _You nearly have me a heartattack_!" I whisper (loudly). "And keep your voice down or Madam Pince will throw us out! Someone might've heard you!"

"Oh, psh, relax Granger, we're in no danger! Ha, see what I did there? Granger-danger?" What the hell is _wrong_ with him? "Anyways, we're in Section B, nobody comes here because it's all encylopedias." I blush at this comment….this is my favourite section of the entire library.

He plops himself onto a seat, surveying me. "Oh don't tell me, this is _your_ forte, this section is. Your knuts and galleons. Typical," he says.

He sways slightly, almost tipping off his chair, and suddenly I fathom what's happening.

"Malfoy…are you _drunk?_"

"What gave it away sweetheart? You really don't let loose a lot do you? You can smell my breath from a mile away, and I can't even see straight; took me about 15 minutes to find you." The manner in which he says sweetheart makes my stomach flutter, but I ignore it.

Now that I'm aware of it, I _can_ smell Firewhiskey, though it's not my fault I didn't recognize it right away. I look into his face, and his eyes sport a dopey expression, but his smile makes him look loads better than he normally does. He's also wearing a t-shirt with a deep v and rather tight, expensive looking dragon scale pants. Ugh, I probably look like a right mess.

Not that I care or anything.

"Excuse me, but I _can_ let loose if I want," I retort finally, taking my eyes off his body. "Why did you decide to drink? And get dressed up for heaven's sake!"

"No, you can't Grangy. You danced once at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, and you looked like a poorly oiled machine trying to break free from control." _Hey! "_I'm sure with more practice you could be a respectable dancer. As for looking decent, I dressed up for you of course," he says winking. _Winking! ? "_And as for the drinking, well, I felt like it. I've gotten quite accustomed to it in the past 2 years."

I'll bet he has…replacing problems with a temporary solution.

"But, you _knew_ this meeting was supposed to be confidential. And _serious!_" I suddenly feel anxiety clouding over my brain. Did he really have to resort to drinking in order to want to speak to me alone? I should've just told Harry about this. I feel foolish for even thinking I'd do this without getting upset.

"Yes, but _why_ Granger, _why?_ I mean, hell, I'm all for it, but Potty and Weaselwacket have to find out sometime. Why didn't you just say something? Don't you tell them everything?"

I realize as he says it that he's right, and I'm flabbergasted he matches his words to what I was just thinking. This decision is very uncharacteristic of me, I always tell them everything. But everything is different…Ron isn't even my friend at the moment, and Harry doesn't need anything to worry him now that he's finally had time to be content with his life. I _can_ handle myself, if I really try. If Malfoy can't even be with me without shooting back alcohol, then so be it. He's not worth it.

"They have enough on their plates" I reply coolly. "It's silly for them to worry about you and I working on a project when I can handle you fine on my own."

"Why do you act as if you know the answer to everything?" His question throws me, and he catches my reaction. He smiles lopsided and brings himself closer to me, clutching the seat of chair, extremely near my thigh.

I can see the flecks of blue in his grey eyes, he's that proximate.

"I…I don't."

"Yeah, you do." He whispers, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. "You always put your hand up! To every question, _every_ single question. And you always give a textbook answer, but do you really even know or understand what you're talking about? I mean, of course you do, you aren't an idiot, but why assume that every response you come up with _must_ be the right one just because your confirmed it in a reading? Just cause its right in front of your face?"

I try to ignore his insults, he's talking nonsense, but my mind is pulled back to last year when I fully doubted Harry's claim that the Deathly Hallows existed. Turns out he was right, wasn't he? And I wouldn't have it until it was right in front of me, like Malfoy is saying.

But he's also completely _pissed,_ so what does he know?

"Shut up, Malfoy. I'm not like that, you know nothing about me." I say offended, pushing his arm away from my chair.

"Oh, I do." He nods knowingly, sitting straighter in his seat. "You want all the little house elves to be free, like you said in History class, but yet you choose to completely ignore the opposite side of the argument, Granger, that they _love_ their job. It's an insult to their race to suggest they go free. Only Dobby wanted out, for a good reason, I won't say it wasn't. But look what happened to him, he was cast aside!" I feel heat rising in my cheeks, but I try to remain calm; he's belligerent (well, not actually, he's pretty articulate), but he's drunk. And he's just trying to rile me up as he always does. He's so irritating, how can he sit there and look so attractive while at the same time I want to take his stupid cutesy tie and choke him with it?

"He died saving us, in case you didn't notice last year," I reply through gritted teeth. "If Dobby hadn't come to rescue us, Harry, Ron, Luna and I would've died in your manor. _He died saving us_."

He stops smiling for a moment, and then looks at me seriously.

"Hmm, you really have a thing for them, don't you Granger. A secret fetish, perhaps? Pansy told me all about your little SPEW organization; she heard you talking about it to Pavarti Patil in the lavatory."

_Excuse me?_ I flush red at the mention of Pansy, the memory of her harassments unwelcome.

"_How _dare _you insist that my efforts for the elves are…are…sexual!"_ I whisper furiously.

He starts laughing really loudly, howling almost, and I slap him hard on the arm to make him stop.

"You call that a hit? That was pitiful," he says.

"Stop making me angry, and be quiet! We need to discuss our plan of action for the project!"

"No, because if I have to go into your Muggle world, you need to understand what irks me, Granger. If you can stop viewing the wizard world the same way you view the Muggle world, then I can respect all your Muggle-y rules when I go to your home."

"What are you talking about?" What _is_ he talking about?

"I'm sure that your claims about equal rights for non-human creatures have some leeway and make perfect sense in your Muggle world; but the fact is that you can't apply everything to wizardkind and expect it to go anywhere. You live primarily in an entirely different place. You have a completely different perspective about what goes on here even if you do read up on a lot. Experience is much more valuable than knowledge."

I look at him for a moment, at his big fat non-Muggle educated head, and I feel the temper rising. It isn't going to stop rising if he keeps on about this!

How _dare_ he insist I don't know everything about wizarding life when I've _lived_ in both places of our earth! He knows nothing about Muggles, yet _he_ acts like he knows everything!

"This coming from a boy who has _never_ taken a Muggle Studies class. I know far more than you do about the topic because I've 'experienced' both realms. Just because my insight comes from somewhere outside the norm, doesn't mean I don't have a point. Maybe I'll never know as much as you do about being a fucking wizard, but at least I'm not some, some, stupid blabbering git like you!" I explode.

He raises an eyebrow, grins devilishly, and says, "Damn, Granger, you're pretty hot when you curse."

That's when I backhand his face.

"Ouch! What was that-"

"_Hermione? Are you in here, I heard your voice!"_

I freeze; oh Merlin, it's Ron! _Ron._ And I'm here with _him._

"_Get up!" _I hiss, and Malfoy just stares at me like I've gone mad.

"Why?" he asks, and I notice he's staring at me like he 'wants to eat me', as Dean so fluently put it. Oh Merlin.

All these emotions are running through me; hate because Malfoy's a know-it-all; anxiety because Ron is coming and he'll beat him to a pulp and berate me if he catches us; fear because well….because I'm feeling attraction. I can't make it go away. I actually enjoy defending myself and my views, and a boy that was arguing with me, that can make me so infuriated, just called me 'hot'. I don't understand why that would make me feel…_flattered,_ when it's Malfoy. With his stupid perfect features, and educated vocabulary, and –ugh. I think it's because instead of calling me a Mudblood and saying I was inferior to him like he normally would, he complimented me on appearance. Mind you, he's drunk, but don't people usually say what they mean when they are?

_Oh stop it, Hermione, pull yourself together!_

I grab my bookbag, and then stand up. Clutching Malfoys arm, ignoring the fact that it's warm and toned, I drag him behind one of the far bookcases in the room. Section B is fairly big, so I'm hoping if Ron comes in here, he'll merely glance and then depart.

"Oh, well Granger, I didn't think you'd take my flattery so seriously," he whispers huskily into my neck, as I push him behind me against the row of bookshelves, and I shiver.

"Sh-shh," I scold in a strangled voice. "We're just hiding from Ron." I feel him stiffen from behind me.

"_Why_?" he says more neutrally now.

"Because he'll kill you if he sees us, berate me about being with you, and I don't want him to know about our partnership because he hates you," I shush him.

"Won't it be worse if he finds us so closely mingled back _here?"_ he says almost angrily. "I'd like to see that actually." No!

I turn around aghast, just in time to put my hands over his mouth as he shouts; "HEY WEAS-mmmph!"

I hear somebody coming into the section, and I use all of my force to shut him up. Malfoy's right; if Ron were to see us now like this, he'd _never _forgive me. Malfoy struggles to pull my hands off his face and clutches my wrists hard, shoving them towards the ground, his face red. He pants deeply, and I never realized how much taller he is than me at this moment. He looks quite scary.

"_Please let go,"_ I whisper, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He releases me from his grip, and I sigh with relief. I take a step back from him and he seems to be trying to calm himself down.

"So when did you want me to first come over," he says, looking straight over my head, not at me, and looking notably more sober.

"I was thinking, if it's alright with you of course, I don't want to force you to come over if you're busy with seeing your family, or have plans and," I realize I'm rambling from nervousness so I take a deep breath. "Is next Friday all right? It gives us a few days to be with our families, and let the news sink in about the project." He snorts, though I don't know why, but nods.

"Yes, that's fine I suppose." He brushes down his rumpled clothing, though still tipping slightly, and regains his composure.

"I'm going to leave you now, Granger. See you around, have fun with Weasel," he scathes particularly nasty, and shoves me aside to leave.

I poke my head around the corner to see that nobody is there. I sit down on the floor against the books for a moment to relive what just happened.

Draco Malfoy shows up drunk to our supposed to be 5 minute discussion, has a heated argument with me about _respectability,_ insulting me in the process. At the same time, he looks impeccable, says I'm hot and sits too close to me, though I think that can be stricken form the record as he was wasted, and then gets extremely hostile when I mention Ron. Comprehension is difficult to find in this.

Is he jealous of Ron, or is it simply hatred? Does he secretly find me attractive? Or did he just come out here to see me with the intention of making me confused and being a conniving git?

I said it once, but I stand by it: I _hate_ boys.


	16. Who The Hell Is Hermione's Partner?

**[Author's Note: A Bit of change in the point of view ;) ]**

**_Why can't you say you're sorry?  
For treating me so naughty  
Just want an apology -  
Is that against your personal theology?  
What'd I do to deserve this?  
How'd I get on your bad list?_**

**_- Drama Queen,_ Family Force Five**

* * *

"I _wonder_ who Hermione got for _her_ partner for that project, don't _you_, Parvati?" Lavender says really loudly (and annoyingly) on the other side of the Gryffindor table. Parvati just looks at her like she's sprouted three heads. As does Seamus who's sitting across from her. She just randomly said that after all, they were eating peacefully before her awkward question and voice interrupted.

"I mean, you've got Susan Bones, Seamus has Justin Finch-Fletchley, and I've got Dean. Who could she possibly have? Isn't it _biting_at you to know?"

She's staring at me as she says this…but I don't know why. I don't really care, I figure she's been partnered with Neville or something.

I thought that after all this time Lavender would be over me, especially since she got so cross after she saw Hermione and I upstairs in my dorm 'alone'; and that was 2 years ago. Maybe Hermione was right in thinking she still wanted me, but if that's true, it's probably only because I helped out the victorious Harry Potter defeat You Know Who. _Girls_. They're all about money and status, they are.

Speaking of Hermione, where the _hell_ is she?

I know, I know, I'm supposed to 'wait' for her approval, like all gentlemen do. But I really would like to explain to her why I've been acting so stodgy lately. She just doesn't understand how long I've cared about her romantically for, for 4 years now. I messed up big with Lav, I know, but stupid Ginny got to me about not having a girlfriend, and I took the first chance I got since 'Mione didn't show any interest in me. I wasn't truly aware of how much I cared for her (or she cared for me) until Harry knocked some fucking sense into me after I managed to smash open that locket.

I shudder thinking of that ruddy locket, and turn to Harry.

"_Harry, do you know where Hermione's gone to?_" I whisper.

Harry finishes gulping down some Pumpkin Juice, and wipes his hand over his mouth as he turns to look at me. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like to know where she is, obviously." I roll my eyes.

"Well, why do you need to know?"

Ugh, he can be such a tosser sometimes.. He's my friend too, doesn't he get how I'm feeling? That maybe I might want to talk to her and apologize properly? I'm worried about her safety too. Who knows how many Deans could be lurking waiting for the right moment to flirt with her.

"Can't a person wonder where his friend is without interrogation from the Potter Police?" I snap. He raises his eyebrows and swivels away from me, contemplating his answer while ladling his fork into his mashed potatoes.

Finally he looks at me and says, "She's in the library, Ron."

_Of course._ She`s just visiting her second home, well that's okay.

At least she's not off with some guy or something. I don't understand what in Merlin's baggy pants has happened to her this year. She is studious like she`s always been (if she wasn't she wouldn't be Hermione), but all of a sudden she's kissing blokes she barely knows. And she's making an effort to look nice when she couldn't give a squiggly Nargle's ass before this year.

I mean, what the bloody hell was thinking when she decided to wear _those_ pants to Hogsmeade, and a shirt that showed more skin than I think I've ever even seen on her? Plus she does her hair everyday now and something to her face, which I pointed out to Harry, but he said he hadn't noticed, the liar. I used to not take any notice of her physically, but blimey she's gorgeous. Even when she has the signature bushy hair, and she's just woken up.

It's not fair. Other boys shouldn't be allowed to view such beauty; she should just be mine.

I mean, we were supposed to finally be together! After all this time, after everything was over and won, we could stop acting like we didn't have feelings for each other. But she said I wasn't mature enough, and that we were 'going too fast', what the fuck does that mean exactly?

She wants to talk to me about Creature Rights and Ministry Policy, but I just have other interests; and I would've put more efforts into discussing emotion and justice if she gave a damn about _my_ hobbies, like Quidditch and chess….and, and being a good friend. Yeah.

Besides, it's not like I don't know her at all, she's acting as if I've never been her friend. What else could there be to explore with her other than, uh, intimate things?

Oh, sod it. I grab my 13th chicken wing hungrily off the almost-empty serving plate and chuck in into my mouth.

"Wait. Dean, wasn't Cho supposed to be your partner?" This comes from Seamus.

_Merlin,_ _enough about that stupid project!_ That's all everybody's been talking about these days. If only I had joined that class, then at least I could patrol Dean's behaviour towards Hermione, while watching out for her of course.

"Yeah, she was, actually. McGonagall told me in class after, er, what happened -" he pauses to look at my reaction, and I just scowl. I am not just going to explode at any moment, thanks. "She's changed me around so many times for who my partner will be because of 'compatibility issues'. She put Cho with Marcus Belby because they know each other; guess she's too shy to be with me or something," he laughs and I roll my eyes again. "So now I'm with, er, Lavender."

"Should be fun!" Lavender says, eyes twinkling at Dean, but she's ever-so-slightly glancing at me. Well what the hell for? If she likes him, she can have him. Hermione's a way better snogger.

"Hey, _Harry_," Dean inquires and Harry's head shoots from Ginny's attention to his. "Did Hermione tell you who she got for the music assignment? I mean I know you aren't in the class, but you're her best friend. I'm slightly curious now since nobody seems to know who she got." At Harry's quizzical expression, he corrects himself. "Erm, you don't have to say of course…"

"It's fine. And no, she didn't. I didn't really bother asking her." He shrugs. Of course it's fine for _Dean _to ask a question, but not me.

"Ginny?"

Ginny shakes her head. "I figured that if she wanted to tell me, she would have."

"That's weird. So nobody knows who she got?"

"Guess not," Harry says, looking around as if that will uncover the mystery of Hermione's partner.

"Maybe she has Neville?" I interject. They all look at me for a moment, and then look over to the right questioningly. I realize that Neville's been with us here the entire time; his face buried behind _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi. _Been too busy eating, suppose.

"Ahem, Neville?" Seamus clears his throat loudly, and he looks up from his page, slightly dazed.

"W-what?"

"Who did you get assigned partners with for that project?" I ask hurriedly. Now it's starting to worry me.

If Harry doesn't know, and Ginny doesn't know, something's wrong. I can understand her avoiding me, but why wouldn't she tell Harry?

"Oh, Hannah Abbott," he says sheepishly.

"Nice," Seamus says, giving Neville a high five, who returns it meekly.

I guess Neville's pretty excited about it, since he's turning a deep shade of red and grinning like Peeves after a good prank. She's not bad, I'll give her that; nice bum.

Anyways _wait,_ so Hermione isn't anybody in Gryffindor's partner?  
What the bloody blowing gum, is this?

"You know, I do find it odd that she hasn't told anyone," Parvati cuts in_._ "I mean, if that means she doesn't have anybody in Gryffindor we know, then she has to have somebody she doesn't like, right? She won't even tell her best friend," she says to Lavender, who's smiling devilishly. How can she enjoy this kind of gossip?

"Oh goodness, you all are so clueless; it's obvious who her partner is now that I think about it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, apparently intrigued now too.

"She's been teamed up with Draco Malfoy, of course." Comes an airy voice behind us.

I choke on the chicken bone I was munching on, and turn around in horror; Luna.

I haven't seen her or talked to her in a while; why does she always pick the most inopportune moments to barge into our conversations?

"How do you know that, Luna?" Harry asks gently. He's always been nice to her, I've never figured out why. She's a nice person and a right laugh but I can't handle the talking about Cone-headed Gnome Robbers or whatever rubbish she spouts out via her Dad.

"Oh, I don't. But it makes sense, really."

Dean laughs, unconvinced. "It doesn't make _any_ sense! Why would McGonagall put her with _him?_"

"Yeah, I mean, wouldn't she have the sense to keep all the Slytherins together?" Harry asks.

"'Fraid not," Lavender squeaks, clearly enjoying the bad attention put on Hermione. "Millicent Bulstrode was talking to that Astoria girl in the bathrooms; she said she had Theodore Nott as her partner, was really looking forward to it. So that leaves Malfoy as the only 7th year left in Slytherin, yes? I don't know who he's gotten, you don't know who _she's_ gotten, and she hasn't told you. According to Dean, she always tells you everything. I think you can do the math."

Harry and I exchange glance of fear. "Wouldn't Malfoy have complained to McGonagall, or refused to do the project with her? I mean…they've hated each other forever." Neville says, joining in the conversation.

"Yeah, that part doesn't make sense," Harry says. "Malfoy is renowned for making a scene when he doesn't get his way, or generally has distaste for something."

"He's changed his mind on her I think," Luna states, still hovering over Harry, hands behind her back and looking at us all dreamily.

"Malfoy? Change his mind? Ha!" I say loudly.

"Well I _was_ there you know, during that fight between you 2," she points at Dean and I, making us stiffen at the tension she's created. "Malfoy sent that Reducto spell at you, Ron, right after you accidentally hit her. He likes her." she says plainly.

Anger is boiling in my blood, how _dare_ she say something like that! Hermione? And _him?_ He could _never _like her that way! Ugh!

"That's absolute rubbish!" I exclaim.

"No….I don't think it is," Dean says suddenly out of nowhere. "I think Luna might be right."

"What? _How?_" I ask, enraged.

"I think that perhaps Wrackspurts have infested his brain; they're very active in the springtime, you know. Dad told me that Muggles have something called 'spring fever' where a lot of them feel happy and dazed because winter is over, and it must be the Wrackspurts taking effect because…"

"Yes, thank you Luna," Dean says, trying not to look irritated. "What I mean to say is that when I went to a bookshop in Hogsmeade with Hermione, he looked at her…like, he looked at her like he wanted to…you know." He prompts, and I feel my face flush.

"That still doesn't explain why McGonagall would purposely place them together. " Harry retorts, looking at me, silently saying _Stay calm, Ron! "_She shouldn't have to deal with a git who's called her names for 7 years, McGonagall must know what he's said to her in the past."

"Yes, but who is the one who tried to stop her from getting hit, and ended a fight with people who were," Lavender counters pulling a face, "_fighting_ over her?"

_Stay calm?_ Panic and anxiety fill up my brain; this is blasphemy is what this is! If he's her partner….we can't trust him to be alone with her!

I freeze. _What if he's with her right now?_

I stand up quickly, almost knocking over Jimmy Peakes who's sitting next to me in the process.

"Ron, don't even think about it!" Ginny warns me, but I ignore her.

I swivel around walk as fast as I can out of the Great Hall. I've got to find her.

* * *

"Ugh, Ron is _such_ a prat!" Ginny exclaims. "Why can't he just leave her be?"

"I should probably go after him, who knows what he's going to say to her if he finds her. Or worse, if this speculation is true," I say exasperatedly, as I get off my chair.

"Want me to come," Ginny grabs my wrist gently to hold me back. She looks at me thoughtfully, straight in the eyes, but I just attempt to smile at her like everything's okay.

"No, it's fine. I'll see you up in the common room, okay?" She grimaces for a moment, she's not one to miss any action, but then says, "Okay well give us a quick kiss before you go."

I can't help but let a smile fall onto my face, and I give her a quick peck on the lips; I'm not really one for public displays of affection. But she's a gorgeous girl in more than just appearance, and I'm lucky to have her, so I shouldn't disappoint her wishes.

_At least she asked me to come this time, instead of insisted like she normally does._

"If something happens, let them know I'll be hexing them. Whoever deserves it, not just Malfoy. Good luck, Harry."

I nod to her, enjoying her wrath demeanor and acknowledge everyone else who are still sitting there slightly roused and uncomfortable. Now I hurry after Ron.

I scurry up to the fourth floor, hoping to some deity that Hermione's up there and not on the third floor. Or at least, that Ron went that way. I _think_ the reference section is on the 4th one anyways….

And I _really_ hope Luna is wrong, but somehow her logic always manages to eerily make sense, even if half of it is nonsense.

Hermione _didn't_ tell me who her partner is, why didn't I see that as a red flag? I don't remember her ever having hidden anything from me, besides girly stuff I don't need to know. If _Malfoy_ is her partner, that is going to be a lot to handle on my part; keeping Ron separate from him, and retaining my own temper at bay.

Even if he didn't rat us out last year in his house, don't think I've forgotten, we still don't exactly see eye to eye. He's been a coward all his life, living off his parent's status in leeway of a personality, and now he has to form his own front without the connection from "Father". I have to say the difference isn't much better. He should feel right lucky he didn't go to Azkaban.

He's never apologized to me, or anyone he's verbally abused, so I should hardly feel sorry for him. How can he still be holding onto his pride after everything his family's done?

His mother is decent though, I'll give him that; she risked her life to go find him, reminds me of my Mum. But why anybody could love that spoiled little brat before he became a pathetic victim of Voldemort, I'll never know.

I round the final corner to the library, passing many questioning portraits (Hey, where you off to so fast, Hero!). Ugh, Hero. I'm quite sick of the praise, I'll tell you that much.

As I edge towards the tall oak doors of the Library, I sigh with relief that nobody is out here screaming (yet) and push them open roughly.

Madam Pince 'conveniently' is exactly at the entrance when I rush in and she scowls at me like I'm a piece of dung on her ugly old shoes. "What're you doing in here, boy? It's almost 8, the library is closing!"

"Er, just need to look up one ingredient for Potions Class," I lie, shuffling around the bend as she clicks at me annoyed, but too old to come running after me.

Okay, Wolfsbane Potion, and Wormwood_. Wolfsbane Potion and Wormwood._ Where the hell do I go for that?

I continue walking along the million lanes of books. I hear something rustle behind me, and I whip around. Nothing.

As I pass Section A, I hear a_nother_ disturbance, but once again I am unsuccessful in discovering who or what passed me.

Suddenly, "_Harry_?"

I look to my left, where a towering shelf of encyclopaedias sit, for the source of the noise and…it's Hermione! Yes! She's sitting against the bookcase, and stands up slowly as I turn to face her. _Luckily I've found her in time._

But as I near her, she doesn't begin to amble towards _me_, she simply stands there solemnly. Furthermore, she has an expression of discomfort… I hope I don't have to retract my last statement.

"Hermione, are you alright?" I ask, grabbing hold of her hand and jolting her towards me protectively.

"Fine," she says automatically. If I've learned anything from hanging around Ginny, and being taught 'girl 101' lessons by Hermione, it is that _anytime_ a female tells you their 'fine', something big is seriously wrong. And I really hope it's because she couldn't find the right number of mixing turns for a potion, and not boys.

"Okay," I say simply, not wanting get to be angry before I ask my next question , "did you run into Ron just now?"

Her face twists into surprise. "No, I thought I heard him but…"

Hermione not giving me a straight answer? That's like Peeves giving a straight one. I swallow my pride and balls out ask her, "Is Malfoy your partner for your class project?"

Her eyes widen, and her mouth pops open in shock, "How did you-?"

"Lavender was discussing who it could be, actually everyone at the table was," I state awkwardly, and she crosses her arms fiercely, clearly upset at the idea.

"You were _gossiping_ about me?" she says icily.

"No." I say quickly and she gives me a look. "I mean, In a way, uh yes. I mean, everyone was talking about who was matched with whom for the music thing. Nobody knew who you'd gotten, and they found it odd you hadn't told me. Then Luna came long and said that it was obviously Malfoy, and we all said that was rubbish, but then Lavender finished the speculation off with some truth. Ron got angry at this prospect so he ran off to find you, because I accidentally told him where you were, sorry. So, er," oh god she looks livid and as if she's about to cry. I don't know how to phrase this. "I ran after him because I didn't know how he'd react if it was true, and you don't need any more commotion in your life so…Yes. And so now here I am," I say lamely.

"_He was here."_ She whispers. I become rigid. This obviously explains why she's so upset, stupid Malfoy came and said something….or touched her, I know it.

"_What did he do to you?"_ I growl.

"Nothing, actually. But he was drunk," I squeeze her hand more firmly; a drunken Slytherin is anything but good. "And – and. Oh, please don't hate me for his," she pleads, and drops her hand away from mine, crossing her arms to cover herself while I stand in confusion.

"I thought I heard Ron coming, and I knew if he saw Malfoy with me he'd flip, so I made him come behind a bookcase with me," I stiffen. "N-nothing happened, but he got quite cross when I told him that we were hiding because I was trying to mask this partnership from Ron, that was a mistake. I suspect he wanted to rub it in Ron's face. Anyways, I'm just so riled up at the moment. He was arguing elf rights and nonsense with me, and- and _respectability_ of all things about the wizarding world. Just – oh Merlin, Harry I really didn't want anyone to find out, but I'm so stupid into thinking nobody would be none the wiser. I thought I could keep it under wraps."

"Why didn't you tell me, though, in the first place? I want to protect you, you know. You're my best friend," I stress, attempting to hold back the urge of finding Malfoy and turning him to slug slime.

I don't think I'll _ever _forgive him. He's permanently on the bad list.

"He's not half as bad as he used to be. I mean, in perspective," he adds when she notes the grimace of disagreement upon my face. "He agreed to come to my _house_ for Merlin's sake, didn't even push that hard against it. I just thought that if you knew, somehow I know Ron would find out since you're going to see Ginny during the break. I didn't want you to worry, Harry. You don't have to spend your entire life looking after other people, I'd like you to enjoy yourself once in a while. I can handle it, it's only for a few weeks. "

I soften after she expresses her concern for putting my mind at ease. I guess as long as he co-operates I can't stay mad at him, as much as I'd _like_ to feed him to blast-ended screwts. He really hasn't done anything this year to offend any one of my friends.

But something is irking me; she's definitely hiding something, though I can't put my finger on what. She just confessed what I wanted to know…so why am I not satisfied? Just ugh, how could McGonagall pick _him?_ Even if he did 'stop the fight'. Suddenly my thoughts saunter back to what Dean said about Hogsmeade. It makes my blood boil.

"I'm just worried that he's going to try something. Dean told us that he was looking at you, er, not like he normally does, when you went on your date."

She keeps a straight face, but her cheeks blush red. "Trust me, I'll be surrounded by family, I doubt he'll try anything. He's going to be uncomfortable enough in the Muggle world. Which I have to admit I'm quite looking forward to," she grins slightly.

"Anything to take him down a peg, huh?" I say chuckling, glad the conversation took a turn for the better. She nods smiling, and releases a breath. "Can I just ask you a favour?"

She looks up at me and nods again. I continue, "Since we probably won't see each other if you'll be busy working with, ugh, Malfoy, can you owl me a few times? Just so I can keep my anger, and Ron's I suppose, at bay."

"Of course," she says as if I'm an idiot. "I'd never forget to owl my best friend," she says coming towards me and hugging me lightly.

"Sorry for acting like your brother, but, you know how I feel about _him._"

"I know, Harry. I should've told you in the first place, you just have a history of taking things a bit, uhm harder than normal people." My turn to blush. "Because your heart overpowers your brain sometimes," she adds, making me embarrassed but flattered.

"I just tend to underestimate people in terms of their caring about me, I guess," she says self-consciously. "But apparently people like debating stuff about me behind my back," she finishes callously.

"Well, at least now you know how I feel after 7 years of it," I say breezily, and I'm happy that my attempt to get a chuckle out of her worked. "Should we go find Ron?"

"Yes, I suppose we might as well get this over with," she rolls her eyes, shifting her bag over her shoulder. We walk silently in unison over to the exit. Madam Pince eyes us as we leave, muttering under her breath how ungrateful all the students are, and what a dump Hogwarts would be without her. Right.

I hold the door open for Hermione, but hear a skirmish of voices. Hermione steps out to see the commotion, and we both groan.

Malfoy and Ron are standing face to face in the corridor, wands suspiciously put away, hands spread out ready for the attack.

"What's it to you what I do, Weasley? I'm not allowed to roam in and out of the library without having Potter Watch on me 24/7?" Internally, I laugh humourlessly, the 'Potter Watch' reminding me of Ron's 'Potter Police' in our earlier conversation.

"Not when it concerns Hermione, you're not!" Ron snarls.

"You don't own her, Weasel. And that doesn't explain why you're berating me!"

"It's called watching out for the ones you love, and you know very well why I'm talking to you!"

"When will you get it through your skull that she doesn't want your ginger headed ass, Weasel? She could do far better than the likes of you," Malfoy snaps right back. "And no I don't!"

"Oh, what, like _you_? The son of a failure, not to mention a coward Death Eater who only came on the good side to save his own hide? Yeah, a much better choice." Malfoy's jaw sets, but stands still as he fired back an insulting blow;

"Better than a snivelling poverty-stricken rodent who acts like a woman is his property and then strikes her in the head when she doesn't want him! You can't even support your woman when she gets hurt!"

"You fucking bastard!"

Hermione draws in breath as Ron pushes up his sleeves ready to strike, and I decide now is the right time to make our presence known.

"Ahem," I clear my throat, and the 2 both startled shift their attention to me. "Can you two stop acting like children for a moment, and let Hermione explain all this?" Ron stands up tall, acting like he wasn't going to punch Malfoy to a pulp. Oddly, Malfoy does the same.

"_No!_" she nudges me, hiding safely behind my shoulder. "_Why can't you do it_?"

"Come on, Hermione, it's the best way to get them to calm down."

"Fine," she says angrily. "Ron," she addresses him as she steps out shakily to make her presence more evident. "I know why you cornered Malfoy here. Harry's told me about your little Gryffindor discussion group" she says acidly. "I _am_ his partner for this project, like you've been so hypothesizing." Ron grunts and shoots daggers at Malfoy who returns the glare right back, but let's her continue.

"A) None of this is your business as you aren't even supposed to be talking to me," she starts counting off of her fingers. "B) Malfoy is _drunk,_ so anything he's been saying is most likely utter nonsense." Ron looks him up and down, and turns back to Hermione, inherently disgusted that anybody would even think of getting drunk when he himself hypocritically always talks about sneaking Firewhiskey out of his dads cabinet. "C) I'll be just fine thank you, I don;t need your protection. Malfoy's agreed to come to my house instead of the other way around, so I will be safe. If anything should happen he'll have to deal with my family." Ron scowls even deeper; Hermione _could_ have used a better selection of phrases; Malfoy has to meet her parents, something _Ron_ hasn't even done properly yet. I've never been to her house either, come to think of it. "D) I've agreed to keep in touch with Harry, so you will know if anything of mention happens, but it isn't_ that_ big of a deal. I don't know why people keep making it a big deal. I don't even know why _I_ thought it was a big deal. It's one project. I didn't tell either of you because I knew you'd both react this way, it's not as if we've decided to _elope _or something." Malfoy, I notice, turns pink at this. _Strange._

"Finally," she turns to Malfoy at this too, "You _both_ are acting like idiots, so just quit talking about me like you even know what I want in a man, because you have no idea." She finishes and turns away from them, pissed off no doubt.

About a minute or so passes, the tension thickening all the while, and finally Malfoy cuts it with his blade of a tongue.

'As much as I enjoy continually bumping into you trio, I think I've had enough Granger for one night considering I'll be seeing her a lot in the next few weeks," he says bitingly to Ron, who clenches his fists. "As for you Weasel, I've had enough of you for a lifetime." With that he stomps away right past me and doesn't even glance at Hermione. I note that she stiffens at his proximity, but that's probably because she's afraid; he's quite frightening when he's drunk to be honest. I thought a drunk Draco Malfoy would've been more pathetic.

"You better watch yourself!" I call, and he stops, but gives no reply and cracks his neck before striding off again.

"Can we go?" Ron asks childishly after Malfoy's successfully out of our hearing.

"Let's please," I answer, and not even waiting for either of us he turns and starts marching towards the dorms.

"_We're not going to tell him I actually was with Malfoy in the library, are we?"_ Hermione whispers in my ear as we saunter down the hall.

"Definitely not." I answer.

I look down at her small figure; positively livid, and even slightly hurt, but determined. She'll be fine. I trust Hermione, so no need to add an extra helping of anxiety to Ron's stupid plate, and mine. I only hope she can handle him like she says. She's definitely capable of handling most people, but Malfoy's been not right ever since we saw him in his manor. And he likes pushing her buttons. Who knows what he could possibly be thinking.

I'm going to keep watch, but not interfere. Merlin knows what I'll do if I get my hands on him.

If anything is to happen to Hermione because of that idiot, I'll be on the first Dementor trip to Azkaban for first-degree murder. Ron, too. And the less Ron has to worry about, the more I can enjoy time with Ginny, not to mention the less I have to be reminded of Hermione's predicament.

For once I'd like an inactive holiday.

* * *

**So I know it's unusual loves, I just thought it would be so unlikely that Hermione could hide her Malfoy partnership from her lovely duo. And I thought it would be funny to show life from Harry & Ron's brain.**


	17. Coming Home

**_I'm coming home  
I'm coming home  
Tell the world I'm coming home  
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday  
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes_**  
**-_ Coming Home_, Skylar Grey**

* * *

My Ancient Runes essay got the only Outstanding, I've been given the first letter of recommendation to send to future employers by Headmistress McGonagall, and I was commended by Professor Slughorn for making a brilliant argument on my Potions test about Murtlap Essence.

So why aren't I ecstatic?

Of course I was extremely pleased when I was initially told, but the education high I normally achieve from performing well at school has disappeared. I can't even pay attention in Transfiguration, where I currently am, and it's one of my favourite subjects. What is wrong with me?

It's probably because of this impending doom everyone keeps suggesting I'll have on the spring break. After Harry and Ron found out about the collaboration between Malfoy and I last week, they've been clinging to me like irate grindylows to an intruder in their midst. I've grudgingly allowed Ron to talk to me; but on the condition that if it's only something relevant like school work, and _not _about the 'look' some poor bloke wasn't giving me across the hall. Honestly, you give boys an inch and they want a mile.

Anyways, after everybody saw how upset Ron had been coming back from that horrific encounter outside the library, they put two and two together and assumed correctly that I was in fact paired with our resident Slytherin. I overheard Lavender speaking to Fay about how unfair it was that I got so much male attention from the 'hot guys', and why couldn't Ron have at least joined music so she could make me jealous.

Furthermore, I've had Dean, Seamus, and basically all the old D.A. members come up to me individually, saying that if I needed any emergency help, to send out a signal via our old Protean charmed coins. I'm not even quite sure where my master copy is anymore, I think Neville has it. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate their concern over my safety. It just feels like they don't think I can manage it. I mean, it's just Malfoy.

Okay, well it's a boy who I'm attracted to. But, he's one who I loathe all the same. And in any case, I'm going to be more concerned with the outcome of our assignment than what the outcome of our bizarre relationship is. I know we're both bossy control-freaks, but he's just going to have to fit it through his skull that I'm the leader. He gets to pick who we are discussing, so I get to pick _how_ we go about discussing them. My revision and composition practices have yet to fail me (I got an Acceptable once in Divination, admittedly. Cried myself to sleep for a week). Mostly though, I receive top notch grades, and I expect the same effort put in to this assignment on both sides, or else I'll have to let McGonagall know that _he _didn't. And while I like answering questions in class, I do _not_ like tattling.

I figure that we, as partners, can simply confer about what we would like to write about (meticulously following the essay guide of course), painfully go out in public if necessary to retrieve books should we need them, and then work hard indoors. If he does his part well, maybe I'll even let him go home so he can write it unsupervised. The less I see of him, the better.

So in perspective, it really isn't all that bad unless he gives me an attitude.  
Of course he's going to give me attitude; I'm sure he wants to work on this with me as much as I want to with him. Despite all these 'glares' he's apparently giving me. They're probably out of spite, not of sexual yearning. Or he's just putting everybody on.

The chair in front of me roars like a beast and I snap to attention, jumping slightly. I forgot I was standing up; I probably looked a right dimbo just staring into thought space.

Neville has managed to transfigure his desk into half a lion. It's sprouted a red mane out the top, a tail swinging violently out the back, and the legs are now paws. A small mouth is protruding from the flat wooden surface, and angry roars emit from it. We were supposed to be turning our textbooks into parrots that could recite the page we were on (I haven't successfully made a transformation yet); I guess Neville misaimed. I can't help but giggle, Harry and Ron are almost in a fit. It _is_ quite the ridiculous sight. Though, the horrified expression on Neville's face is far more hilarious than of his actual mess-up. At least the transformation wasn't complete.

McGonagall gives him a dispraising look from her seat, but simply rolls her eyes.

"Sorry professor," Neville grumbles.

"It's alright Longbottom, just leave it so I can take care of it after." She stands up. "Class, we are done for the day." Excited whispers cascade through the big room. "Enjoy your break, students, and all of my music pupils; make sure you give your best effort into that assignment. I look forward to the presentations."

McGonagall smiles in her tight-lipped way at all of us and proceeds to shoo us away. "Now off you go, the train will be leaving in less than 2 hours!"

Everyone packs up quickly, and walks out just as fast, waving and calling good byes to our professor. I purposely lag behind, taking my time. Harry distracts Ron into conversation, driving him out the room. I informed him earlier that I needed to speak with Malfoy for a moment so he graciously told me he'll prevent Ron from noticing by discussing Quidditch teams. By the animated arm-movements on Ron's part, it appears to be working.

"Goodbye, Professor," I say brightly, who in return gives a pleasant nod. "And thank you for the recommendation, it really means a lot." I don't know how else to express my gratitude, but I figure telling her repeatedly might help.

She simply smiles again. "Make sure you don't miss the train, Miss Granger!"

Breathing deep, I reach into my bag and fish out my photo self-consciously. Then I track down Malfoy, who luckily was one of the last to leave the room. I see his leather bag swiftly turn around the entrance of the class and quicken my pace so as not to miss him. I need to pack too.

"Malfoy," I call in a polite voice, though internally my stomach is clenching. Last time we talked was last week, and he was most definitely not a happy camper when he left.

He stops mid-stride and swivels around smirking, almost like he was expecting me to say something to him today.

He puts on an obviously fake exterior and says happily, 'Yes, Granger?", then continues to frown.

I swallow. "I…You're apparating to my house Friday."

"I know," he replies like I'm an idiot.

"Er, I was just thinking yesterday that it would be awfully difficult for you to locate it, seeing as you've never been there. So I got the idea that maybe a visual aid would help you."

He looks puzzled for a moment, his mouth stretching into an almost amused half-sneer. "Visual aid?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. Well, that is to say, a picture of my home. I know it's a Muggle picture, but it's all I've got, unfortunately. On such short notice, I couldn't exactly send for a new one; this is the picture I glance at when I find myself missing my family." I admit slightly embarrassed.

He seems at a loss for words.

"You want to give me a picture. So I won't get lost..?" he clarifies.

"Of course," I repeat, not understanding why that's such a complicated concept. "I wouldn't expect you to simply know what to do and where to go."

His confused face returns, looking at me as if thoughtfulness is a foreign notion, though now that I think of his past endeavours and comrades, maybe it is. As much as I can become upset at someone, I won't hold such malicious intent towards him especially when his future concerns and affects me.

I tenderly clutch the picture I'm holding, looking at it tentatively before handing it out to him. He leans away from me for a moment, awkward at my sudden kindness I'm guessing. Or maybe because my 'Mudblood' hands are near him, I don't know. But then he grabs it and immediately stares at it. I glance away, not wanting to see his reaction to it as he's probably scrutinizing the size and quality of it. _His_ home is magnificent, but that's to be expected from his family. Compared to his mansion, my house looks like a shack.

"Have you decided on who you'd like to research?" I ask, finally returning my gaze to the blondie in front of me. He looks up from the photo, expressionless, smacking it back and forth continually over his palm. He shakes his head, smirking again.

I sigh. "Really? Because I wanted to get a head start on it. Nobody at all in mind?" I press, knowing I sound like a swot, but annoyed that he can't think of anyone, seeing as I gave him the choice.

"How about you pick a few people you like, I'll pick a few I like, and we compare the music when I see you." he says diplomatically. Draco Malfoy, _diplomatic?_ "Then we can possibly come to a decision together. If not, then we pick _my_ favourite."

He must see the look of utter disbelief on my face as he drawls in a way impeccably like his father: "I _can_ be considerate you know. Just because I _have_ the choice, doesn't mean I won't give other ones a chance." I just continue to stare at him.

"See ya on the weekend, Granger," he says still smirking, with a weird hint of something imprinted in his normally lifeless eyes, turning away to go pack.

I just shake my head and turn around in the opposite direction. Bollocks, I didn't tell him what time to come over! Oh well, he probably doesn't get up till noon, so I'll have time to prepare.

I close my mind up, realizing that the train leaves at 5, it is now 3:47, and I've yet to pack a thing! Beginning to sprint along the corridors, I rush past all the younger students, wanting to get to the tower ASAP; getting Crookshanks to sit in her travel cage properly is always a nightmare.

{}

"_Hermioneeee, we're almost in Lon-don."_

I open my eyes slowly to see a smiling Ginny appear in my vision, hand on my shoulder.

"How long have I been out for?" I inquire yawning and stretching, Crookshanks dozing on my lap.

"Oh, since about an hour or so into the ride," she giggles. I groan, but grin blushingly.

"I'm sorry, hopefully I didn't snore or anything," I reply embarrassed, remembering a time last year when Ron complained I didn't stop wheezing one evening so he couldn't get any sleep; if I remember correctly, he had on Regulus's locket. I glance around the compartment, surprised only Ginny is here.

"No, no, you were silent. Don't worry, Hermione, Ron was positively talking your ear off about some mundane sport in North America, Quodpot if I recall. Don't blame you for wanting to get away from it. You seemed lost in your own little world anyhow, but pretended to keep interest until you nodded off."

That's right; I was preoccupied about how I would go about informing Mum and Dad about our visitor for the next 2 weeks. I honestly hadn't thought of how crowded the house might be since we'll have more family guests coming in for a few days for Easter; I think Gran is coming, Uncle Bertrand, Aunt Lisa, Little Connor and Abbey, then Aunt Julia with Andrea who will no doubt have more clothes for me from _Vogue._ She never fails. This Malfoy business roaming back and forth in my head has kept me from actually being excited that I get to have a reunion; I haven't seen my relatives in such a long time.

"What are you so happy about?" Ginny asks amused. I touch my face, noticing my grin is wider than usual.

"I just can't wait to see my family," I say, and she smiles.

"Yeah, me neither. As much as Mum drives me round the bend half the time, I can't imagine not having her around. Who else would I get to act out as a surly, misunderstood teenager to then?" We both laugh.

In this instance, I realize Malfoy is just another blip in the radar. I'm doing great in school, I've got good friends and I'm going home!

Remembering Ron abruptly, I ask, "Is Ron okay? I mean, was he miffed or angry when I fell asleep?"

She rolls her eyes. "You worry too much about that git, love. He didn't even realize you _had_ been napping until he saw you start to breathe heavily and noticeably. I think he took it to heart though, he went off dragging Harry along to go find Neville to see his opinion on the game." She tells me all this in a bored voice and I can't help but chuckle again.

"Oh, I feel awful, were you sitting here by yourself long?" I ask, suddenly realizing she must've been lonely when Ron and Harry left.

"Luna came in here earlier, so no." she says pleasantly. "I didn't want to leave you, knew Ron would have a fit if I left you 'unattended' from outsiders. So I just had a go at your Ancient Runes book," she points to the open text lying next to me. "Awfully boring," she concludes, and I shake my head smiling. I adore that book.

"Then Luna came in for a visit after I gave up trying to decipher what 6 triangles and a square meant. We talked about what we were going to do on holiday, and then she went on about something to do with how you were probably in a Dwarf-induced Dream because they enjoy train rides and the visions only happen on Thursdays." She wiggles her eyebrows up at me and stifles a laugh.

I like Luna, but I've never found her views amusing like everyone else has. I simply don't understand how she can really believe such nonsensical things. She's a very good person though. Her uncanny knack for understanding humans is baffling, and she's been awfully nice to me considering I accidently insulted her Father the first day we met.

"So now here we are." Ginny proclaims, waving her hands up in the air. "I hope Harry comes back soon though; I need to tell him what he should watch out for when Mum's present. He has this tendency to act awkward and say stupid things around her because now we're dating, you see," she gestures. "Dad loves the idea of us, I can tell, as does Mum, though she hides it. Good thing I have an amazing taste in men, huh?" she winks.

Well, that is certainly true.

"I just wished he'd act like he normally does," she continues. "I mean, Mum and Dad already love him like he's family. I don't understand her concern for me, hasn't he proved his worth tenfold? It isn't as if they can stop us dating, kissing or sleeping in the same bed, either."

"Excuse me_?"_ I ask, all other thoughts escaping my mind like a vacuum in space. "You two are _sleeping_ together?" I whisper, trying to have more tact.

"Well, yeah." She says easily. "Mum got really angry at the end of the summer when we started doing it, but I told her that he's an adult now and I'm damn near one, so it isn't any of her business what we do in close quarters. Wouldn't speak to me for weeks actually, but she finally came to when Harry explained to Dad who explained to Mum that he is in love with me wholly and truly, and that anything going on in there isn't out of simple hormones. He likes protecting me and being with me at night," she says unpretentiously. "I think Ron would prefer to be alone anyways to sleep."

"That seems excessively difficult just to be able to have sex."

She looks completely dumbfounded for a moment and then bursts into hysterics.

_What have I …?_  
Oh god, realization hits me and I feel a right idiot.  
She wasn't talking about sex. Or at least, _just_ about sex. I blush fiercely at my blunder, and Ron picks this inopportune moment to barge in, Ginny clutching her sides from giggling too hard and me sitting here feeling foolish.

"Hey, Hermione you're…..awake?" He finishes midsentence awkwardly, staring at us. Ginny looks like she's having a fit, her face matching the shade of her hair.

"W-what's so funny?" he asks, looking panicked.

"S-s-s-s-s," Ginny hisses, but can't get the word out because the laughter is so hard, and her attempt to stop it is cutting at her vocal chords. I'm just frozen, hoping she won't actually say it.

"Well spit it out!"

"SEX!" Ginny shrieks, and at her brother's reaction (eyes wide, face rouged) she begins to giggle uncontrollably again. Ron spins around and exits the car, pushing away a confused Harry by the shoulders. He only got dip his head in to check on his girlfriend before he was pulled back out, no time to open his mouth.

"In all seriousness though," I start, starting to get slightly peeved at her finding this so comedic. It's not _my_ fault I've never experienced love the way she has. "Are you two having regular intercourse?"

She snorts when I say intercourse, but takes deep breaths in order to stop the small titters still emitting from her mouth.

"Sorry, sorry. I just thought of what I had said to you and didn't grasp the fact that it did sound a lot like I was talking about _just_ fucking."

I cringe when she swears. I hate when people say it like that; making love sounds so much lovelier and gentler. Fucking sounds so impersonal to me.

"Oh come on, it was funny, don't be a stick in the mud," she says in response to my expression, coming to sit next to me.

She then puts a hand of my wrist and looks into my eyes earnestly. "Hermione, yes, we have sex. I thought it was obvious the way we act around each other."

Of course's she's right. I don't know why, but I just can't see Harry in a sexual relationship, it isn't right because I view him like I would a brother. Ginny, yes I could see, she's so carefree and confident. But my best friend? _He's_ so awkward.  
A slight grin falls on my face thinking about it, actually. How embarrassed he'd be asking to do anything, and she'd just roll her eyes and be ready.

"The first time was at the end of my fifth year, before school ended if you wanted to know." I find myself a little shocked, fifteen seems too young.

When I say nothing out loud, she continues. "He took me for a walk one weekend; we neared the forest and found a beautiful view of the Black Lake. It was very beautiful….and private. We kissed, we touched, one thing led to another and…well, you know."  
No, sadly I don't know.

"But you have to know that it means more to us than just carnal need. I mean, I'll admit that once you have it once, you beg for more," she grins impishly. "But I love him. If we honestly wanted to just 'do it', there are so many places we could go; Mum has no idea. There have been several times where we said we were visiting George at his house, but instead we went to a Muggle inn." She blushes slightly and adds, "But please don't tell anyone I've said that, Harry is still paranoid someone's going to find out." I give her a disproving look.

I'm not upset at her for defying her parents, maybe a _little_ shocked. I'm more surprised Harry would risk such lengths just to be with her like that. I feel so envious.

"I've loved him for a long time, as you know very well," she smiles. "While the sex is amazing, I have to tell you it's far more special an experience for me to just lay there with him in the aftermath, just cuddling. It's indescribable, 'Mione. When he's holding me, it is as if we're the only two people in the world, all my fears and problems just melt. I feel very safe and appreciated. Loved. I feel like he only has eyes for me. And to wake up in the arms of somebody who's saved you plenty of times, who you never thought you'd have a chance with it's just….Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to go on about it…" she finishes dreamily. I soften my expression, understanding finally how much she cares for him, to describe her intimacy like that.

Ok, now I'm _really_ jealous. Ginny is not usually one to have emotional conversations, even to her greatest of friends; this must really be special for her to get lost in the feeling of something like that. She's so lucky, does deserve it though.

Her experiences are something I've near come close to, but stopped in the middle. The niggling thing in the back of my head comes to the forefront, and I don't know if I should dare ask, but I do.

"Ron knows about the nature of Harry and your relationship, doesn't he." She looks at me, almost sadly, and nods. "Do you think that's why he…?" I can't complete the question.

"Hermione," she sighs. "My brother has always been the bitter type. He hates that a lot of people have material things he doesn't, and he is ashamed that we don't have more money." She looks at the floor, and I put a comforting hand on her shoulder. When she lifts her head back up, her eyes are fiery. "So when I or his friends find ourselves having sex, love, or just fun with someone special, a thing that doesn't necessarily need money to be achieved, he sees green. He craves the attention from the opposite sex not just because of the natural urge, but because all the rest of his siblings can do it with ease. But he lacks the comprehension and sensibleness to be a decent boyfriend, not to mention the brains to pick out a decent girlfriend," she adds, hopefully thinking of Lavender. "I know after last year his personality has improved, he finally acts like an adult now….but only sometimes. I'm quite sure that he knows what Harry and I get up to when we're alone, and he wanted that with you. The problem is that I doubt Harry talks about what we do in detail, so Ron has no idea that the reason we're so happy, well most of the time," she adds as an afterthought, "is because of _everything_ we do together, not just the sexual aspect."

"So basically he rushes it?" I ask.

"Yes. I think he really did and does love you, Hermione," she says seriously. "That's the thing that's frustrating, I think he does. But because he doesn't know what proper love is, he acts like he did with Lavender, which was to just snog 24/7 instead of talking; she chewed on every word he said, and you _don't_ because you're far more interesting and don't pretend to be fascinated with things you're not."

"I never saw it that way," I admit. After I moment I ask, "Should I feel bad that I don't want to give him a second chance then?"

"No, love," she says kindly. "I like you 2 together, but Ron's been acting like an idiot ever since you broke up. He probably reckons that if you had just had sex you would feel the way Harry and I do, which is not true. And since you left him hanging, essentially, with no space to apologize, he's still hung up on it all. It's been ages, honestly, he need to understand that you need to be ready for these things; He should know you by now. You'll be level-headed about any decision concerning something important, but he insisted on being hasty before talking it out. It's on you whether or not you want to see his gitty face again," she adds sticking her tongue out.

It amazes me the way people can be so wise beyond their years about the things you're confused about the most.

"Thanks, Ginny," I say heartily, hugging her. She squeezes me back and gives me the usual, 'No problem, it's what I'm here for!"

"Out of curiosity, _do _you want me to get back with him?" I ask cautiously.

"Not really now. Honestly, you left and he didn't properly apologize for _months. _He's been so rude to you, just because you kissed Dean he started a national emergency for goodness sakes. You're 18! He should leave you be to explore your options." My mind shifts to an image of a smiling Malfoy, the smile he had during his audition that made my heart jump. I shake it away. "The concept that perhaps you'll realize that he's better for you than others once you go out with them is lost on him. I won't be that upset if you don't get back with him, I just hope you can find a viable replacement for yours and my sake. I'm so sorry about Dean by the way, he's usually a nice guy."

"He is…he just has the alpha male gene, doesn't he? Has to respond to goading. Can't ignore it. If somebody got mad at him for kissing you he'd have done the same. Guess it's the same routine when he was with you. He always tried to do things for you even though you told him to stop. And honestly, a fight on our first date? How ludicrous."

"I know…Ron must've been saying things when we weren't around, yeah? I just hope your next date is better. If you go out with a tosser in his eyes, he'll just constantly rub it in our face that he was better for you. I doubt anyone won't be a tosser to him though…"

I look at her cheeky face and chuckle. I ask, still thinking of Malfoy, "You don't think he hates me after all I've put him through in the summer, and this year, and now the whole Malfoy thing?"

"Hermione, are you serious? What _you've_ put him through?" She rolls her eyes. "He can't give you breathing space for 2 seconds; I mean okay, he may 'love you', but if he did love you the way he says he does, he wouldn't have gotten so cross last summer. He uses the word like it trumps everything else anyone has to say; he devalues it. Couples break up and get back together all the time, but he took you so seriously that he wouldn't even speak to you, what a class A jerk. It's such low self-esteem. I don't blame you for it either. I've had plenty of boys date me, only to want to get in my pants, and I'm sure that's what it felt like to you. Just because he knows you well does not mean there isn't any more to learn." Exactly how _I_ feel! "And as for Malfoy, he just has to get over it. This is school work, and if he knows you at all he'll know you're going to suffer through it for an Outstanding, you're a fighter. Though if something happens because of him, you let me know and I'll be on my way with a Bat Bogey Hex ready to fire," she says maliciously.

I open my mouth momentarily, but close it just to smile. I just can't confide in Ginny how I've been feeling about my partner as of late. She doesn't know that I've seen him naked, or that I've had so many strange run-ins with him; some I've found as pleasant as the bad ones have been difficult. She doesn't know because I'm chicken. If I told her, she'd probably get angry. She can be understanding, but she also hates Malfoy's guts; he's always been rude to her and her family. And he doesn't deserve her kindness. Her boyfriend has been the victim of his insults forever, and all these things should make me hate him, but I don't. It's driving me insane.

"You okay?" she asks. "Not worried about Malfoy are you?" _Yes, but not for the same reasons you think I am._

"A tiny bit, but more about how he'll react around my family than anything," I lie, though that is a valid concern. Ugh, I hate this predicament.

"Well, you always have your friends," she grins. "Revenge is my specialty."

"I'll keep that in mind." I smile. The door slides open and both of us girls look at the intruder startled. I sigh when it's just Harry; for some reason I thought it'd be _Malfoy_. I need to relax.

"What was all that nonsense about earlier?" he asks, perturbed.

"Oh, sex," Ginny says crudely. He flushes and tugs at his collar.

"Well nothing about me right?" he gulps.

"Why?"

"Ron saw you laughing, Gin, and Hermione blushing. He thought maybe you were talking about him, and er his, um, you know…Performance ." He says strained. "He thought Hermione had given some sort of inside info about him and Ginny was laughing at it."

A shaky grin forms on Ginny's lips, but she holds in a laugh.

"That definitely was not out topic of conversation," I clarify, my mind flashing to Ron naked, and then to Malfoy.

All this talk of sex is getting to me. He has definite sex appeal, but still.

"So you _were_ talking about me?"

"Maybe a bit," I join. My mind won't rest, but I quite enjoy Harry's facial expressions.

"Nothing bad…or graphic I hope."

"Nope," I say, looking at Ginny.

"Good," he sighs. "You're not, er, mad, Hermione?"

My turn to look worried. "No, why would I be?"

"I just…thought you may disapprove of our uh, decisions." He mumbles. Ginny shakes her head, weary of his tactlessness.

"No, not at all. It's your life, and Ginny's been mature about it." I nod in her direction, and she crosses her arms then nods satisfied.

"Okay, good," he says relieved, though I'm insulted he'd think I'd lecture him on proper behaviour…okay I have in the past, but not for his romantic life; he doesn't need to be scolded for that, he's a wonderful boyfriend.

"Anyways, since we're about 5 seconds away from King's Cross, I decided to come back; Ron refused to and stayed with Neville and Luna." I click my tongue and sigh.

Ron, seriously needs to step up the game if he wants to prove he loves me_._ He keeps stating how he feels, publicly ugh, but nothing he's done so far has proven that he can wait for me; I dislike overprotective, and I need someone grown-up enough to appreciate that personal space is a blessing. Immaturity is a turn off.

To clear my head I look out the window to see the city nearing us. It's stunning. The night sky is bright with the skyscrapers and hustle and bustle alighting the downtown haze. The stars are just visible above the clouds.

As much as I love the country taste of Hogwarts, I'll never be able to give up the urban jungle of the Muggle world. I love it. I love walking around it, seeing new people and places every day; walking down streets I've never heard of. Discovery is a beautiful thing. Sitting in the park reading is not as special when you're at Hogwarts because grass is available everywhere; Hyde Park, one of my absolute favourite places in the world is like heaven in the middle of a metropolis. I've found myself escaping there in past summers just to relax and get outside.

Ginny nudges me and gestures to the luggage above our heads. I snap out of my daze as Harry and Ginny start grabbing their belongings. Once the Hogwarts Express starts seeping underground from Muggle view, I decide to tidy up. The train comes to a screeching halt as I finish scooping up Crookshanks into her carrier.

In the single file line to escape the train, I spot Mum and Dad outside the window, though they can't see me. My heart flutters with excitement and I have the desire to just cast a petrificus totalis spell on everyone so I can get out.

"Make sure you write," Harry smiles as we finally reach the platform. I turn my gaze from my paents, who're waving, to my best friend and give his lovely self a hug. He's startled by the sudden emotion from at first but returns it.

"Bye Gin," I say as she shuffles away from a happy Luna to me, and switch bodies to embrace.

"Bye, Hermione! I'll miss you even if it's just for a few weeks. Come over if you can! Fill me in on what happened, won't you?"

"Of course," I nod and wave to Mr and Mrs. Weasley. "I'll try not to leave a thing out."

"Good trip, Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley calls as Ginny smiles at me and we walk over with Harry to see them.

'Yes, thanks! And how are you doing, Molly?" I really am blessed that they still treat me well after having broken up with Ron; Mrs. Weasley blames Ron for it like she normally does, but I'm grateful for that, I really do like them a lot. They even asked me to use their first names because I 'treat them with respect and we're all adults'.

"Oh, been busy looking after little Teddy, he's growing up so fast!" she proclaims delightfully. She must be happy her maternal instincts are being used once again after almost a decade. "Talking nonstop, walking, and quite eager to try out a broom, but I thought maybe his godfather would want to show him that," she says, eyes sparkling at Harry who just beams as if it were his own child.

"Yes, he's really brightened the household, hasn't he?" Mr. Weasley adds in. "Makes life quite a bit less lonely when you folks are away."

I just smile at them all, and feel a bump behind me. Looking backwards, I spot some red hair. I move over so he can receive a hug from his Mum. Ron after being released from his squeeze looks down at me hesitantly, as if he wants to say something.

I'm in such a pleasant mood that I don't even have the urge to be distant and aloof my instincts tell me.  
"I'll see you in a few weeks, Ron," I say lightly. He looks taken aback when I hug him close, but regains his sense and envelops me back tightly. He hangs on for a bit longer than he should, but I don't say anything. I don't have to anyways, Mr. Weasley clears his throat and Ron jumps slightly, moving away from me sheepishly.

"Shall we?" he asks.

"My parents are waiting over there, I must be going. See you later!" I say. Everyone calls out goodbyes, Ron ecstatic somewhat to my dismay, as I turn to my parents behind me.

Hurrying to their smiling faces, I rush into my Dad's open arms. "Hello, love," he says warmly.

"Hi Dad…Mum."

It's _so_ good to be home.


	18. Dazed and Confused

_**Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true,  
Wanted a woman; never bargained for you.**_  
_**Lots of people talk and few of them know,**_  
_**Soul of a woman was created below.**_

**_- Dazed and Confused_, Led Zeppelin**

* * *

She's playing bloody mind games with me, isn't she?

After I accidentally called her 'hot' and showed up a drunken mess to our meeting she wants to punish me by confusing me about her thoughts towards me. There I am thinking she absolutely loathes me, and expecting her to tell me off at some point for my rude behaviour, but no. She just edges up to me all self-consciously, could even have been _cute_ if it had been anybody else, and hands me a picture of her house_. So I won't get lost?_ Who does that?

I couldn't let her win our stupid competition. I figure that I have the upper hand in the battle of puzzling emotions now by being diplomatic and suggesting we pick our partners together; truthfully, I haven't picked anybody out yet, but I enjoyed her look of bewilderment at my proposal. And I'm interested in seeing her tastes in music.

Not that I think they'll be good or anything….but perhaps they'll amuse me.

Why she continues to bedazzle me with such intimate possessions of hers though, I have no idea. This photo has a little Granger standing on her lawn for Christ's sake. She looks about 3 years old, and she's playing with a kitten, while I'm guessing her mother watches on. I don't understand; wouldn't she have noticed she was in this? Why would she desire for me to use this when I could just struggle on my own to find her? I mean before 20 minutes ago, that last thing she did was fucking backhand me!

Good thing I was almost belligerent or I probably would've retaliated in some idiotic way. I was simply stating my opinions, and it_hurt_. Slaps hurt.

I know I acted like a huge arse around her; so I don't deserve any sort of 'visual aid' from her. I still cannot _believe_ I told her how I actually felt. Because she _did_ look and sounded bloody hot when she swore, I wasn't lying; I quite like her when she's angry. It means I've won, and I _love _winning.

Plus, though I hate it, I couldn't stop imagining how feisty she'd be in bed if she took all that anger out on my dick.

Not that I'd actually fuck her if I had the chance….she's a Mudblood. I may not believe what my parents told me anymore, but I'd be disowned if I even spoke about that. Or pursued it. Regardless of how I felt emotional for her. But, oh how I'd like to, bloody forbidden fruit she is. I'd love to see her writhe and moan because of _me_, to see her _enjoy_ it because of what I did.

I don't understand sick bastards like Fenrir Greyback who actually enjoy seeing people struggle because they are stronger than their victims; that's not true power. I'd much rather have somebody who loathes me admit that what they get from me is something ideal, even pleasurable, to be forced to say that they were wrong about me. And what better way to get my fix of that than to have a girl who I've been less than nice to scream my name?

I smirk at my thoughts, and then shake my head. Seriously, what is wrong with me? If mother knew what I've been thinking, she'd probably break down in hysterical sobs; her only son sexually attracted to a lesser blood.

Albeit, a smart and talented one.

Mercy me, this is irritating the hell out of me; what are these emotions running through my head for? What the hell is this picture supposed to mean! And why was she so goddamn pleasant in presenting it to me? She's rather right in assuming I probably wouldn't be able to Apparate to her house without it; it's very difficult to travel somewhere when you don't have a clear frame of reference in your mind. But, still, I'll confess I don't deserve this sort of help.

The only manner in which you can just pop to an unfamiliar place without much trouble is if you're summoned….somehow you just know where it is you're going when you're convened. I shudder at the thought, and gaze to my forearm, the Dark Mark still looming like a horrible reminder of my past.

"What's that?" I look up from my bed. I realize i've been flipping the picture around subconsciously in my hands, staring at it for minutes while I waited for Nott to finish packing. I got my suitcase together last night, wanting to leave as soon as possible; Nott begged me to wait however, so he wouldn't have to deal with Millicent alone. Ugh, I can be such a pushover sometimes.

I guess I feel guilty, grudgingly I'll admit, because I left Nott alone drunk in here. He told me he went to speak to Astoria, the imbecile, and told her he really wanted to bang her because she's so beautiful, and didn't understand why she didn't have a good time with in Hogsmeade because he was so 'charming'. Therefore crushing any hopes of ever again salvaging a relationship with her. Bloody funny, though.

I am about to shove the damn thing in my pocket as he comes over, but suddenly I decide to ask Nott for his opinion, mano-a-mano. After all, he is the only person in I can really discuss such things with; he, unlike his father, has generally lived an unprejudiced life, he just hid it well. If he's going to continue to show interest in the events of my life, I may as well honour and feed his desire. Attention is lovely.

"No idea," I finally reply matter-of-factly, handing it out to him, wherein he grabs it raising his eyebrows. I've never surrendered so easily.

"This is….Hermione's house?" He says surprised while scanning it. I'm startled at his usage of her first name, but then he has no reason to hate her. Perhaps my using her last one is simply habit now.

"Apparently. Not too bad actually, wasn't expecting such a pleasant looking neighbourhood." And it is pleasant. Surprisingly so; her parent's dwelling is a quaint, well at least by my standards, 2 story home painted white and accented with cornflower blue on the windows and doors. The street is lined with identical looking home's pushed up against each other, but somehow hers stands out among the dingy, peeling others. Large buildings loom around the district vicinity, unfamiliar territory for me; I live protected in my manor, vast acres of tree and garden surround it. No. the Malfoy's would buy an extravagant house in an excuse to stay away from potential Muggles, and lesser bloods, whilst flaunting the wealth.

"_Really_, Draco? You do know that Muggles don't live in cardboard boxes and wear potato sacks like our families would have us believe," he snorts.

I turn pink, embarrassed that he suspects I'm so stupid. I _knew_ that!

"I am _aware._ Excuse _me_ for not taking Muggle Studies; I don't know what London looks like outside Diagon Alley, thank you!" I bite.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, tips," he says smirking. "Don't get worked up now, going into the Muggle atmosphere is going to be overwhelming I'm sure. So just keep your cool, and you'll be okay. "

"You're giving _me_ advice? Like you've been out there before," I scoff.

"Well I have, actually." He states, and my mouth hangs open flabbergasted. Surely not? "Don't look so surprised, geez. Dad took me to a Muggle strip show on Fleet Street." Ugh, disgusting. Casual sexual encounters, no thank you. "I mean, yes they were Muggles, but Dad was on the Dark Lord's orders to attempt to control one of the bodyguards for the Muggle Prime Minister. We were there for a week, and he was drunk due to stress; I wanted to get my fix," he says nauseatingly. "They were all gorgeous and flying about on poles, dressed to the nines in sexy things; so much better than looking at pictures in magazines, you know. Dad convinced the bouncer man to let us backstage if you know what I mean," he says winking.

Dreadful.

"Class is something that I thought you'd value," I say, pulling on my coat wanting to leave. "_Honestly_, _and people wonder why wizard elitists call out others in poor taste sometimes."_ I whisper to myself.

Nott rolls his eyes. "Class? When my libido stops, then maybe I'll worry about who I touch. It's a big business in the Muggle world, Drakes. I'm sure if there were more lovely witches around these parts, there'd be a place for them to show off their assets, instead of just having one or two random town whores."

I pull a face; it doesn't matter to me if they're witches or not, but you have to draw the line somewhere, and clearly some Muggles do not…and wizards.

"Anyways, my point was," Nott states, "is that don't get fuming every time you learn something new from Hermione or another person because you don't understand what something is or does. Because it's going to happen to you about a million times. I asked my Dad probably every 10 seconds about shit I had no idea about, seriously." He stares at me with his dark eyes, and they look sincere. Well of course they do, I kind of expected that to happen. I realize I'm probably going to get irritated having to ask Granger of all people to explain stuff to me.…I don't want to look a fool.

"Well thanks, I suppose. Can we go now?" I ask haughtily, trying to change the subject. Nott slips on his brown boots and grey jacket then nods.

"Yep, ready now. _Ungrateful bastard_" I smirk at his clever attempt to make me offended.

"Locomotor Trunk," I command, the spell flowing from my wand and hitting my suitcase with a pale light. The case flips up off my bed, and trails swiftly behind me as I make my way down the stairs.

I don't acknowledge any of the other Slytherins as I march through the common room, wanting to leave as soon as possible. Nott looks like he longs to speak to Astoria, but she looks at him with such fear and loathing, that he keeps his mouth shut. When Millicent expresses interest with a sudden movement Nott pushes me halfway out the dungeon and into the corridors.

I just smirk and follow him swiftly down to the Entrance. I _am _looking forward to going home.

As much as I hate to convey my emotions, I do miss my mother; after all she is the only family I have left. Father is stuck in a place he'll have to stay in for a few years, no doubt broken when he escapes; Aunt Bella is dead; Even my cousin who I've never actually spoken to, Nymphadora, is dead.

I long for the calm quietness of my own room , where I can relax without interruption from anything. It's where I've spent most of my days since the night the Dark lord was killed. The next week after the battle they took Father and I away for questioning after Kingsley had been named new Minister for Magic. For some odd reason they went easy on us, though they had to arrest Father because of his connections; he let the darkest wizard of all time take refuge in his house after all. Well 'let' isn't the correct word, but it's not as if Father could've reported the activity anyways if he wanted to, the bastards. The Ministry was taken in too, in case they forgot.

I shake my head at the anger I feel; at me, at my family, at the Ministry.  
Mother is in distress every waking hour, though I hope she's been okay now she's had time to think on her own. I imagine I remind her of him; I've always been compared to Father in looks, and if I was 'lucky', personality. Looking at me probably reminds her of him.

I can't believe how much time I've wasted over the years attempting to emulate and use my father's wealth and status to be better than everyone else. Because I never was, was I? I never proved anything to Father, he always criticized my academic performance, and berated me on not doing as he wished because I couldn't keep my pride and temper at bay. Even when Father continually failed at his tasks, I just wrote it off as sheer luck on Potter's part. I was so dazed into wanting to prove my worth, I still wanted to make him proud. But when I finally had the chance for glory, I didn't pull through even when I wasn't supposed to; they knew I was weak from the beginning.

How could I have even _wanted_ to kill somebody? Especially for 'honour'? I'm a loser and a failure.

"Are you listening to me?" I snap back to the present and shift my head towards Nott.

"No," I say vacantly, not bothering to lie. I try to roll away my thoughts off my back, and say wearily "what is it?"

"Oh, uh" he says wrinkling his brow at my unusual distractedness, "just wondering what we're going to do on the train."

At my indifferent expression he says: "Well, Astoria and Millicent will be on it….how will I, we, avoid them?" It's rather tedious he insists I come up with answers to everything.

"I'm not _going_ on the train," I sigh annoyed as we reach the entrance hall.

"What!" he exclaims.

"I'm apparating home, Nott. I don't live even close to London, and I hated the train ride here. I only took it because it's impossible to tell when the train will arrive here, so I didn't want to risk not being able to enter the shield. Now that I have my licence why should I bother sitting for 4 hours on a stupid train through the Scottish countryside?"

"Isn't it against school rules?" he asks as we walk down the staircase and out the big wooden doors. "I mean, isn't it mandatory to-"

"_Shh,_" I hiss, as we pass Filch who is guarding the exit, eyeing us like we don't deserve to live. Stupid idiot doesn't need to get me in trouble before I leave this bloody place. After we pass him I continue. "No, it's impossible to Apparate inside of Hogwarts, but outside I see no reason why I can't; I'm not doing anything illegal."

"I suppose you`re right," he shrugs, looking dejected. "I'll have to suffer on my own, Millicent will come looking for me, wanting some love," he grimaces, forlorn. Like I feel sorry for him.

"Apparate yourself?"

"Can't, never learned," he says embarrassed. Well la-di-da.

"Guess you're in a tight spot then, huh."

He scowls at my unsympathetic manner, but I merely smirk as we stop in front of the giant exit gate into the forest where the carriages lie.

Slughorn and Sprout are being the watchmen, each standing at either side of the gate, making sure we behave, or else to keep the magical force away. I raise an eyebrow at Slughorn as we pass. It's my acknowledgement and farewell to him; he nods in confusion and waves, probably wondering what I'm up to.

The disgusting winged beasts are waiting a few meters past the gate, looking for companions to enter their car.

"Well this is where I leave you, Theodore," I say mock snootily, and salute him. "Have a fun time with Bulstrode; we can share our no doubt awful experiences again when we return here, perhaps with more liquid fun." I swish my wand at the suitcase and grab a hold of it as it falls.

"What?" he questions sacred. 'What if they see you, what if they –"

I don't hear him finish his sentence as I fade into the silent blackness, willing myself to think about the manor and holding my breath as I experience the tight squeeze that is apparition.

* * *

_POOF_

I land on my feet with a sharp crack in front of the giant black fence on the long drive to the house. I forgot how loud it was to travel by magic. Hopefully it didn't cause a ruckus too loud back at school.

I put my wand away and walk straight through the gate, not bothering to raise my hand. Strong magic's been placed on the manor; anti-apparition and recognition spells have been cast to only permit select people. The home-owners don't need to state who they are though, the enchantment just knows. I begin to walk.

As the gravel crunches under the weight of my feet, I contemplate how on earth I'm going to bring about telling my mother about the project. I suppose I could just tell her I'm paired with Nott, but she may be suspicious or worried enough to want to know full details.

After about 3 minutes I reach the door. I hesitate before opening it, I'm not entirely sure why, then turn the knocker slowly, taking a deep breath of the familiar smell that resides in my house.

Only, something is off.

It's eerily quiet. Perhaps my mother is away? But she knew I was coming back today…..I did apparate, but then, why would she go out if she was going to have to return in a matter of hours? Narcissa Malfoy is not the type to simply muck about around town.

As I walk through the drawing room to the staircase, tensing at the the thought of Granger and the rest of them having been tortured in there, I hear odd noises coming from above.

Peoni, how could I have forgotten? Peoni is our newest house elf, and I have to say she takes orders well. I never took the trouble to punish any of them, but Dobby was certainly a nuisance, crying every day and pissing me off. Peoni just smiles and acts like making me lunch is the greatest thing in the world.

She must be cleaning or something, I hope she didn't drop anyone's things, ugh. I'm suddenly reminded of Granger again and our conversation about the elves, and I snort. Silly girl, if she took one look at my new servant, she would shut right the hell up about her stupid SPEW.

_Why are you thinking about her again?_

Agh.

I enter my bedroom quickly, throwing my suitcase on my big black bed, and decide to investigate the mysterious noises. They're like an odd thumping sound, and they seem to almost be in rhythm now that I'm closer to the source. I can't imagine Peoni being the cause…so what is it?

As I step out into the long hallway, the sound is louder. It's coming from my parent's room.

It almost sounds like….a headboard. But, no. That's disgusting. And impossible. Father is in Azkaban.

I hear a high pitched scream.

_My mother!_

What if it's an intruder? What if she's being tortured!

I sprint to the end of the hall, losing my breath due to my lack of eating.  
_Okay, just turn the knob and -_

_POP_

"AH!" I shout, as the little grey elf pops in front of me. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I cry not being able repress my surprise.

I don't care if he or she comes out to hurt me... I've got my wand.

Peoni's big bulbous eyes glance at me worried. "Oh sorry, sorry Master Draco. It is just that Master Narcissa has asked Peoni to block off this area in case of intrusion."

_What!_ "But, why? Didn't you hear her scream!" I say shakily, attempting not to kick Peoni in the stomach right here just so she's out of the way.

"Oh yes, Master Draco. Peoni did, but Peoni cannot say why. Peoni was asked to keep surveillance out here and Peoni doesn't think that she should disobey orders just for Master Draco."

I'm going to slap it. "Peoni, you will move out of the way this instant."

But she just just tugs at her black cloth nervously, twitching, debating the outcome of this situation; if she does either thing she'll be disobeying orders from her Masters.

The thumping is getting louder.

I step to the right of her, trying to get past, but feel a sharp sting on my foot. "Ouch!" Bloody elves and their fancy magic.

"_Oh, GOD. Oh my GOD!"_

That's enough! I pick up Peoni by the head in one swift movement and toss her aside, going to rescue mother.

I punt open the door with my left foot and run in.

"Mother, mother! Are you –" And when I catch sight of the truth in the noise, I want to vomit.

The thumping origin is revealed to be my mother _straddling_ some, some, imbecile!

She's fucking another man, _my mother! _In my father's own house! While he's in _prison!_

The scene is like some grotesque nightmare that I've found myself in where I want to look away, but I can't. I'm too disgusted to let her cover this up with no shame or remorse. I'm not going to leave, I need an explanation _now_.

The two rabbits stop pounding as they hear my voice. The imbecile looks up at me from lying down, the lazy prick. His expression is shocked.

Mother stops grinding, _ugh,_ and looks behind me as she notices his wide eyes; her look of utter guiltiness makes me somewhat satisfied. It's good to know she isn't nonchalant about this ordeal, as I'm sure some cheating parents have been.

"Darling!" she says shrilly, grabbing a sheet hastily and shoving it over herself and _the man_. I examine him as he sits up, pulling on a blue shirt from the ground.

He's nowhere near as impeccable as father; he has a stupid chinstrap beard and small moustache with short, plain, brown hair. He's skinny too. And not in the pleasant natural way, but a bony way.

I see my mother going to grab clothing, and I turn around to allow her a few seconds to don them. She is my mother after all, she may not deserve respect presently, but that would be disturbing, to watch.

"What are you doing here so early?" she tries in her normal, clear voice. It's too friendly though; much too friendly. She usually sounds cold and bitter.

"I apparated."

"Did you? I thought I was planning to come and meet you at the Muggle station?"

"Well, maybe I decided I'd save you the unnecessary trip, I know how much you hate the Muggles," I say clipped. I'm angry. So very_angry_.

I whip around, not giving her any more time to ask stupid questions. I'm happy to see she's covered her indecent self with a dress. A dress _father_ bought her 2 years ago for Christmas.

My mouth turns into a line, I want to stay calm about this.

_Calm? Your Mother is having sex with a stranger, and you want to stay CALM!_

"Who's he," I state. Not a question, a command.

She ignores me; "Peoni." Ah, the bitter voice returns.

A small pop. "Yes, Master Narcissa?"

"Didn't I tell you to not let _anybody_ in here?" she says with a smile, but her eyes giving away her rage at incompetence.

Peoni struggles, shaking with absolute fear. This is probably the first time she's disobeyed in the house of Malfoy.

"Y-yes, but. I mean, he, Master Draco, was so – so,"

"I picked her up and threw her, okay!" I shout, wanting answers now. "Who the hell is this? ! Tell me right now, or I swear to Merlin I'll write to Father right now and tell him what's happened!" I stamp my foot like a child, fists balled.

She has the audacity to laugh. To _laugh!_

"Peoni, leave." Peoni vanishes. "Draco, your father is aware." She says simply.

"WHAT!"

"Darling, please come here; I need to explain a few things." She said please, a word lost in her vocabulary, so I edge slowly to the bed, refusing to sit down in their stench and….fluid.

I'm going to be sick. This memory is scarred in me forever.

"Draco, this is Jean-Pierre. Jean-Pierre Du Pont." She looks at him like she's a lovesick teenager, and I cringe, my heart crushing beneath something invisible. She's _never_ looked at Father that way. I know she loved him, but…not like that. Never like that.

He holds out his grimy hand, but I refuse to shake it, crossing my arms.

"Please, Draco. I wanted to explain this to you…in better circumstances.'

"Too late," I murmur.

She takes a deep breath.

"Jean is my fiancée." She says quietly.

At her words it feels like the entire roof collapses on my head, suffocating and knocking me out, and I have no idea how I can still be alive.

"Your _what_?" I whisper.

"We've been seeing each other since, well since I started visiting France." I draw in a breath. That was long before father even was sentenced to go to jail.

"_Why?"_ I ask, trying to be cool and collected while my insides scream. I don't want a new father! Just because the old one messed up doesn't mean I require a replacement!

"Lucius….he's lost interest," she begins sadly. "Ever since he couldn't find the prophecy about Harry Potter 3 years ago, he was obsessed. Obsessed with regaining his reputation." Sounds about right. "I tried, I really did, to let him know I still loved him, supported him. But he went too far; the Dark Lord in our house? I mean, because he didn't succeed in his job you almost were murdered!" she practically shouts, and I let out a deep breath. "But he didn't care. He didn't care enough until it was too late for me. Our only son almost dead, and he still was obsessed. After last year, when we exited the Death Eaters to come find you, he – he never looked at me again. He was ashamed. He wouldn't touch me, Draco. I have needs. I may have a lot of discrepancies, but that does not mean I can't feel."

She looks so upset that I almost regret pressing on.

"B-but. Why _now? Why him?"_ Stupid French bastard. "Don't you think Father will be worse off now with the sad memory of you fucking another man in Azkaban! You think he'll live!" I feel tears well up, but I will _not_ cry.

"He should have foreseen this," is all she says. Her eyes sad; _Jean_ looking uncomfortable. Not that I care, but i`d rather him know nothing about us.

She turns to him as if she suddenly remembered he was there. "Chéri, pouvez-vous partir maintenant? Je dois parler à mon fils, seul. Je vous verrai samedi."

Oh I get why she said all this on front of him now. Lovely, the guy doesn't even speak English.

He whispers something in French, which she _smiles_ at, and stands up. He nods at me uncomfortable and departs the room without a second glance; leaving me here with my whore of a mother.

She stands up and saunters to the leather couch in the corner, where I grudgingly follow suit.

"How was school?" she asks changing the subject as I sit down. "Are you enjoying that class with your piano?" _Ha_, bringing up something I enjoy that you disprove of isn't going to make me relent this time.

"Yes." I lie. "In fact, I have a project with a partner for it due when I return to Hogwarts. I've agreed to travel to my partner's home to work on it," I say. I almost want to tell her it's Granger….almost.

She observes me strangely. "You agreed to go there? Who is your partner?"

"Th….Millicent Bulstrode," I say. I can't say Nott. The Malfoy's knows the Nott's. My mother is aware of the Bulstrode's, but she's never met them. Besides, if she doesn't know what Millicent looks like, she may think I'm trying to impress her by going over.

"Ah, they are purebloods, yes?" I almost want to die of hysterical laughter at that query but I simply smirk. We're discussing blood when she's been sexing up some Frenchman.

"One hundred percent."

Relief rushes over her, her face falling into a tight smile. "And how long will you be there for?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm going Friday, but will be returning home that night. I don't have the desire to _sleep_ over," I stress, making her blush fiercely. _Good._ "I suppose we will figure out the next meeting date upon arrival."

"Alright." she says. She hesitates for a moment, but continues. "Draco, I'll be up front with you. I'm going to France Friday, and I will be staying there for unfortunately most of the holiday."

_What!_

"Why?" I ask glumly. I've asked that far too many time in the past 20 minutes.

"I am meeting Jean's parents, and we're sorting out wedding details." I cringe. It's like she doused me in cold water till i'm ice and then threw me in an oven. I've never felt such hatred, sadness, and plain strong emotion like this before. _Nothing_ has come close to this anguish.

"Why didn't you tell me about him sooner!" I lash, standing up. _So, so angry!_

"Draco, I tried. You know how I've been so very solemn this last year?" _Oh, yes. Been crying like a little girl every night._ I nod.

"It's because of the guilt. I felt guilty that I was having an affair. I was sad about Lucius, I still am, mind you. But, it's a time gone. When he returns nothing will be the same. I was scared to leave, but I want to be free. I need to be happy." she says with pleading eyes. " I need somebody who is more…morally upright. And at the same time has a good standing." Oh, of course, social importance is more vital to a relationship than loyalty.

"I need something new. You know, I started questioning my beliefs after that encounter with Harry Potter and his friends during Easter in our home." I stiffen. That's around the same time I started truly thinking about them too.

"I mean, who keeps children and an old man locked in a cellar? It's absolutely barbaric. It's one thing for me to dislike Mudbloods or blood traitors and not associate with them….but torture is another matter entirely. I refuse to speak to them because they do not interest me, I do not need their friendship or acquaintance. But what Bella did….to that Mudblood girl, I. It's just…." I squeeze my eyes shut not wanting to hear.

"I know, Mother." I say hoarsely. I move my hand to hers and squeeze it, reluctantly, but she's clearly distraught. For once in her life, Narcissa Malfoy is showing vulnerability. "I've been thinking too."

"And that is why you are better than your father, Draco. All these years, I've seen you try to become him and it scares me. I do not want you to be him. You had to try and kill a man because of him; to tear your soul away. He's not a good example, and I wished i'd seen it sooner. I wished for you to believe what _we _believe to be right, you didn't need to centre your life around him. I just want you to be happy. I apologize that it had to end up like this, me with another husband."

I exhale, and put my head in my hands. She's right. All I ever wanted was to be evil….but only because of Father. Of what he told me. I just wanted o impress him.

And I knew that finally this year I was in the wrong and tried to change it, but I'll still let Mother down no matter what.

How can I tell her I don't know who I am? How can I tell her that I like a Mudblood? Even if it is sexually.

But then, that isn't even true anymore. I like her fire. I like her skill, her wit. I want to make her surrender to me, but I dare not even try it. Only, it's inevitable. Spending time with someone helps you to know them...i'm afraid i'll like what I find out about Granger. Afraid i'll want her in ways I probably am never allowed to.

I don't want to shame my mother like my father did, but I don't believe her words after tonight. She's lost my respect.

How can she spout such, such, _garbage_ to me about lesser bloods when we're really all the same. We all love, we all hurt, and we all feel hurt ourselves. Because of each other.

I yelled at people to make myself feel bigger, but the insults are never enough. The boasting is never enough. I never feel whole.  
But it's all I've ever known. I'm so confused. How can I feel attraction to something that I'm supposed to hate? Actually genuinely liking somebody makes me feel hopeful, even when in my brain I know it to be a lost cause. If what Mother told me was true, then I'd still want her dead.  
Who the hell am I, and who the hell is she?  
She doesn't know who she is, she just admitted it. She said she questioned her beliefs.

"Mother, I know all those things. But…how can you say you want me to believe what you believe when what you believe is so similar to the man you've left. And when you've admitted to changing your mind about some of them? You felt sorry for a Mudblood, you said it! But all you've ever told me is that they're scum; or were you just repeating what father said? I don't even know what I want anymore, and neither do you. So don't tell me to be happy when you don't even know what happiness is yourself." She sits in stunned silence, as I turn to walk away.

"I'm going to go to sleep," I say hollow. I know I've hurt her, but somehow I don't care. She's a hypocrite.

"Draco?"

I start to exit the room, but her cry wounds me; _"Draco!"_

Without spinning to face her, I stand still saying: "I don't hate you, Mother. So don't hate me for saying what I think. I understand your reasons for what you're doing, but don't forget that Lucius _Malfoy_ is and always will be my father…regardless of his actions."

I don't wait for a response as I make the trip that seems a thousand miles to my room.

When I reach it I slam the door shit and flop face first onto my bed. My suitcase is in view and I an idea pops into my head.

The pain of my parents steeps into my very skin, and I don't know if i'll ever feel the same again. I know I can leave after this school year, but somehow it doesn't matter. To know that i'll have another Father to please, and have the first one to comfort when he's the most unfeeling man, besides the Dark Lord, that I've ever known is daunting. How could she do this to him?To me.

Unfastening the top, I rifle through with one hand, still laying on my back, and retrieve what I was looking for. I pop off the cap and raise the bottle of heaven to my lips; I don't stop til every last drop is gone.


	19. Family Matters & Money Troubles

**_She's a loaded gun, in my shakin' hands._**  
**_Am I in hell, or the promised land?_**

**_I'll show you what I got, when you tell me what you need;_**  
**_So put ya money where your mouth is._**  
**_When the beat goes on, she knows that nothing's wrong_**  
**_She goes down; like the setting sun._**

**_- Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is_****, Jet**

* * *

"So darling, how has school been? Hopefully frightfully better than last semester," Mum giggles in her twinkly manner as we zoom along the London traffic.

I laugh nervously, trying to keep her suspicions at bay. Not that she has any at the moment.

She has no idea the extent of the horror that was last year. When I found Mum and Dad in Australia, it was suggested by Kingsley to modify their memories into thinking something different, something more pleasant, than what had actually occurred; ignorance is bliss. So I decided I'd let them remember I was at school for a few months, and _then_ went off with Harry to find the Horcruxes. But I also made them believe that I was with most of the Order too. 'We' decided we'd visit Melbourne for a nice summer vacation.

I know this makes me a terrible child, manipulating their emotions like that. I was guilty for weeks. But I was so worried about their sanity. They're the most important people in the world, and I know they feel the same way about me. They actually truly care and love me. At the same time though, they just wouldn't understand.

They can tolerate a lot of things, but I've never been very rebellious (in their eyes, anyways), so they wouldn't know what to think if they found out I was a wanted fugitive for a Wizarding government. Not that they would've lasted long enough to find out; they surely would've been captured and interrogated within the first month of our disappearance. I certainly couldn't have told them that that might happen should I go hunting for dark objects; I couldn't even tell them I _was_ to be finding dark objects.

Besides, they've always had a good relationship with the establishment. They knew Voldemort was bad, but I couldn't have ever explained to them just how terrible he was. How he took over the Ministry is not the same as a political coup, you can curse someone to control them in the wizard world if you're evil enough; they wouldn't get it. I don't want them to question everything morally they know to be true. And even if they did comprehend anything in the complicated mess, I'd rather them be happy I am a witch than fear it. I wouldn't want them to be running ragged everyday wondering if another Hitler-like figure was storming around in a place they can't access.

Because they liked Harry, Ron, and his family when we met, they didn't get too angry when I told them I'd dropped everything and left to aid them. They knew I had the best intentions at heart. Which is true. I made them remember that You-Know-Who was a large threat; in their minds he is equal to every dictator that's ruled with fear tactics, though they don't need to know I was the Death Eater's target demographic.

Anyways, having to be re-educated because the school curriculum was completely out of sync at least was something they could take to heart. After all, Dad wants me to follow his practice someday. He's avidly discussed bringing a dentist office to Diagon Alley… like that would work. I don't want to touch the inside of people's skulls. I'd much rather fight for animal rights, for wizard and Muggle-kind. But he doesn't need to know that until university time…

"Hermione?" She looks sideways from her position in the front seat of our car, and I sit here, probably looking stupidly dazed in the back.

"Sorry Mum. Daydreaming… It's been a very, uhm _interesting _year," to say the least. I try to smile. "They chose Fay Dunbar, my classmate, to be the Head Girl so I've been able to study quite a bit more now that I'm relieved of my Prefect duties." _And go on dates…_

Dad clicks his tongue. "Good to hear, love. Though you would no doubt be the best Head Girl they'd probably ever have the privilege of having, so that was a mistake, wasn't it?" I shake my head and silently grin. I do well…okay, _really _well in school. Dad has this impression that I'm worthy of the Wizard equivalent of the Nobel Prize because I'm Muggle-born and get straight O's. I love him.

"Lots of work to do dear?" Mum asks another question. _Oh, god._ "I know this time of year was always so stressful to you."

I don't want to tell them.  
_But you have to, Hermione._  
Fiddlesticks.

"Actually, I don't have much work," Which is amazing thank Merlin. It's bad enough to worry about my former enemy entering my home and meeting my family. If we hadn't had our first round of exams in the past few days I'd probably have died from the stress. "But there is one thing, quite urgent; to tell you sooner. I ,er, thought it would be better in person."

My dad draws in breath, and slams on the breaks as we reach a red light. "You're pregnant aren't you!" he shouts, and I'm so stunned at the ridiculousness that I let out a titter.

"It's not that Ronald boy, is it?" That shocks me still and makes my mouth shut.

"Darrell! How rude!" My mum slaps him lightly on the arm. But then she turns to me again slightly apprehensive.

"You _aren't_ pregnant, are you love?" _Sigh._

"No, I am _not_. And you know very well, Dad, that Ron and I broke up last summer," I reply slightly annoyed. "We're good friends." Lies.

"Oh, right right right. Sorry, love, you know how I am," he chuckles fakely as he wills the car to speed up again.

I look out the window and spot Lenora's Bakery, making my mild irritation immediately vanish; we're almost home now, probably about 10 minutes away. The bakery is so close to our street, I can't forget to get some of her amazing cake when – no, I'll be with Malfoy for most of the time when the rest of my family isn't here. Agh!

"It's fine." I probably shouldn't have made the announcement sound so dire, I mean, they don't even know who Malfoy is. Oh, but they will! "I just wanted to inform you both that I've been required to do a partner project for my Music elective," I say calmly as possible.

"How lovely! How is that class going, darling? You seemed so excited about it in the letter." Yes, I was, wasn't I? Dread has replaced that, and an overwhelming amount of stress that our summative is worth 40%.

"Oh, it's going well, Mum. It's quite interesting, though performing in front of such a small group is nerve wracking sometimes."

"Well, you've always been gifted, top notch to anyone's standards. You'll have nerves of steel in due time," Dad states.

"Thank you," I laugh appreciatively. "But anyways. We need to be finished the project, at least most of it, for the end of the break." My stomach mixes horribly in anxiety. _What if they don't want him there the whole time? _The very idea of going to his house scares me. "It…it was agreed that our house would be the best place to meet up and work on it."

Not even a second passes and Dad asks, "It's not with a boy, is it? Will we finally get to meet that Ronald boy properly, I mean his family was certainly likeable but I don't want him-"

"Oh, Darrell, don't be silly. It will be fun! I never get to see or meet your little friends! Harry and Ron seemed so nice." Mum interrupts delighted. Only, it's not my friend. And he's _definitely_ not nice.

"It's, um, not with Ron or Harry," I say awkwardly.

We pull into the driveway in silence and for a moment the knots in my stomach disappear. I always miss it when I leave. Home. It looks just as good as ever, I note spectating it. I mean in the picture I gave Malfoy, decades old, it looks exactly the same!

I realized as soon as we left King's Cross that I'm _in _that stupid photograph, dancing about in the mud under a tree. He's probably laughing at me. He'll probably laugh every time he sees me now. A blush creeps onto my face but I shake it off. Don't need them suspicious.

I clamber out of the car as quickly as I can when Dad stops and run to the trunk, popping it open to retrieve my bags.

"Who is it with then, darling?" Mum asks pleasantly as we walk up the driveway.

_Spit it out._ "His name is Draco Malfoy," I reply, entering the front door after Mum, glad Dad is still parking the car in the garage; Mum always ways more lenient about boys in general.

She's always thought I'm too studious like Dad was in uni and now in leisure. She's tried to set me up on countless dates. But I've been too gawky and felt too young, inexperienced. She's fairly popular, has a lot of dentist and high school friends she keeps in touch with.

Mom's a great person, that's why. She's kind, smart _and_ beautiful. If only I had I inherited her looks. She has perfectly curled chestnut hair and green eyes that rival Harry's, only they're more like the colour of grapes rather than freshly mown grass.

"What an interesting name. Is he nice?" _Psh._

"He's not bad," I reply diplomatic. After all, he hasn't been this year. "You aren't upset that I essentially invited him over without asking, are you?"

"Of course not, it's school. Tea?" She asks suddenly. I nod. She walks over to the kitchen from the mudroom and I follow suit after hanging my coat on the rack. "I have no issues with you bringing over someone, love. You have good taste in people. And you never do introduce us to anyone. I understand that it's a different world out there, but you are always so lonely come summer time. I suppose your old friends aren't as close to you anymore."

That's true, I agree in my head. My two old friends Priscilla and Delilah from childhood hardly ever communicate with me, nor I them. We've gone to dinner and shopping in the weeks when I'm not out travelling or vice versa in July and August, but somehow it's not the same. A basically 7 year separation is hard to mend. They always tell me to give them my cell phone number and e-mail, Facebook, etc. The truth is that I don't really have any of those things. Dad lends me his phone come summertime should I want to venture out, and I have an old e-mail….but as much as I _like_ the internet, movies, TV, etc, I'm used to a life without using them. The only thing I miss when I'm gone that's material is my records and music.

"I know you are fine with it, you always are. I promise I'll have Harry out some time, he just hasn't been able to the past 7 years," I chuckle. "I'm only worried because…well because of Dad, you know how he is, and well…_he's different."_ I blurt out. She might as well know the inevitable awkwardness that's bound to come.

She turns away from the tea kettle and beckons me over to sit on one of our bar stools lining the island in the kitchen. I go and hop on the uncomfortable chair, and she joins me on the next one. "Sweetheart, your father is just worried about you becoming a woman, like all men do to their daughters. Well, you already know that obviously; He'll be fine once I coax him," she says confidently, rolling her eyes as if he's a mischievous puppy. "Though, I'm curious. What do you mean, _different_? Do you have an attraction towards Draco?"  
Even though that isn't what I meant, it takes all my will power not to blush as I turn to face her. "No, Mum," I lie. Is it a lie? "I just mean that he's a pureblood wizard."

Her brows furrow in incomprehension. I hate explaining this stuff to her, it feel so _rude._

"Pureblood?"

"Yes. It means his entire family are all wizards and witches. He doesn't know anything about the Muggle, I mean _our_, ways of life. He isn't going to know what a lot of things are or do, and he'll probably get frustrated a lot. It's just difficult. I had no choice in picking my partner, and…I don't really mind him over. But I don't know how…well how polite he'll be. I doubt he's even come across a non-magical person, so he may act funny towards you at first; you know how Dad is towards manners," I say, fidgeting with my fingers. I'm casting such a great web of lies. I wish I could be honest and tell her I don't want him here.

"Hermione, I'll speak to Dad about everything okay? Don't worry; this is school we're talking about." The whistling sound of water boiling is getting louder so she stands up to grab some mugs. "What day is he coming? Or what days, rather."

"Friday. For the first meeting; though I never established a time. Hopefully he'll come after noon so we can prepare."

"Prepare? And 2 lumps of sugar, right?" She pours the milk into my orange pekoe, and I nod.

"Well, we have to have a clean house for him." I say, and realize it sounds like I think the house is disgusting…or else he has high standards…..or that I want to impress him. I fiddle with the sleeve of my sweater, feeling ashamed that I _need_ the house spotless. I know he's going to scrutinize it, he can't help it even if he wants to, it's what he's been brought up to do.

"Oh, really?" she chuckles. Well at least she's not upset. "Is the house really a sty?"

I survey my surroundings. The kitchen is completely minimal; black tile with stainless steel appliances. The sunken living room next to us perfect; couches are all fairly new leather, flowers accent in all the right places and the cream carpet doesn't have a stitch out of place. "I guess not, sorry."

"Trying to make a good first impression are you?" she teases.

"Kind of." She usually gets me talking about troubling things with such ease, and I'm not usually dishonest. I just feel like I can't tell her anything about him. "He's rather rich."

"Rich? Are we just paupers then love, haha," she titters. She really doesn't take much seriously, thank heavens. But she has a point. They do make quite a lot as dentists, my parents. I mean, I never ask for much money as an allowance, but I always get really nice gifts for Christmas and plenty of pocket change if I am going out. If we lived in the country, I'm sure our house would be larger than this, more like Malfoy's, though I like it just the way it is.

"No, Mum, of course not, I was only saying. He's probably from the wealthiest family in Wizard England." And I don't even know if that's an exaggeration. I never really thought about it to be honest.

"Oooh. Well I guess we'll bring out the fancy cakes for him," she jokes. I shake my head.

"How many times will he be over?" She asks, and I notice her expression has become more worrisome. She walks over to me and hands me the cup. It's one I painted her for Mother's Day years ago, with a blue sun and a poorly written "_I love you!"_

"I've no clue. I guess we'll just have to see how far we can get in an afternoon's work. I never made a fully regimented schedule though I wanted to, because I didn't know when Gran and the rest were coming over." I look at her expectantly taking a sip of the hot tea, waiting for her to tell me the dates, but her face falls. "Mum?"

The door slams open. "Helen! Have you seen my pipe? I seem to have lost it in the car."

He scurries into the kitchen and sees our faces. "What's wrong, loves?"

"I was just going to tell Hermione…about Easter." When she says this, I get very worried. Dad frowns sadly.

"Is Gran…_sick_?" I whisper. "Has something happened to someone?" Mum sees how distraught I am and quickly speaks.

"Of course not love! Of course not." She comforts, coming to sit next to me on a stool. "I just know how excited you were about everyone coming together as a family. So were we. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to work out fitting times for everyone to meet here."  
I feel a small part of my chest sink at the news.

"Dad and I have a convention to go to for Monday in Leeds. For the British Dental Association." "When will you return?" I ask crestfallen.

"Well, see, this is the bad thing, Hermione. You remember Maureen and Davis?" Dad and Mum's golf friends, I think. I nod.

"Davis has asked Dad to be the best man…they're getting married." Okay?

"That's lovely, but what do you mean…?" I swallow harshly. They won't be gone just for 3 days, I realize.

Mum knows that I get it. "Yes, dear. The wedding is in Glasgow; it's a 5 hour drive away from the conference, but the Wedding is next Sunday, and I thought that it would be nice if we could give drive up and give them a hand while going for a visit."

"But…you're leaving me alone? _I hardly ever get to see you,"_ I whisper under my breath, a tear daring to roll down my face, but I sniff it back up.

"Oh, please Hermione, don't cry," Dad says, coming over to embrace me, but I am upset.  
It means no dinner I was so looking forward to. I'll be stuck here with Malfoy by myself. Even if go visit Harry and them, I'll have to come back, I can't hide there.

"What am I supposed to do about my project then? You're okay with Draco coming over when you're not in the house?" I ask grasping at straws.

It's a pathetic, selfish plea. Just bad scheduling on their part, but it's not their fault.

This mentioning of boys seems to do the trick with dad, whose face turns a ferocious shade of puce.

"W-what!" he yells, hands in the air, pipe flying about in his open palm. "Who's Draco!?"

"Relax, Darrell," Mum says, patting him on the arm. She gives me a stern look. "Hermione, we trust you to know what you're doing with boys; you've always been level headed." That's changed drastically in the past 2 months_._

"You know better than to slack on your grades and intellect to attract any male attention," Dad grunts. "Besides, it's not like he's going to be here every day, right? I'm sure his family wouldn't mind if you visited his house."

I stiffen. Definitely not. Not for a million top marks will I step foot in that place. I tried to convince myself I could…but the memories, and the fact that i'd probably be treated like dirt are enough.

"Also love, we get to meet him Friday and-"

"Do we?" Dad butts in, looking scarily eager.

"Yes," I deflate.

"I'm so sorry, love. If it was any other wedding…" she trails off.

And then it hits me; I forgot that Maureen was the one who had lung cancer last year!

She barely survived. Davis proposed to her the day before she went into surgery, knowing she may not make it out alive. Love at its finest. I feel awful now, they must be having financial troubles with the cost of therapy and recovery. A little help would go a long way.

They _must_ go. I'd sacrifice seeing them for Ron or Harry if they were sick.

"Oh, Mum. I'm so sorry, I failed to recall who they were." I burst out sadly. "I couldn`t place a name to a face, but I remember now…and it's totally fine. I want you to go, you _have _to. I'm just really miffed that I won't get to see anyone. I only get to see you for a few days."

"I know. But, Andrea's coming over Friday afternoon at least." Mum says wanting to change the subject. "I know your little friend will be here, but I'm sure he won't mind if you take few minutes to have a chat; she really was looking forward to the family dinner and asked if she could stop by. You're her favourite cousin you know," Mum says winking.

I grin slightly; she's mine too.  
I haven't seen her in so long, she's going to brighten my day right up. I have something to look forward to now, and my moody shifts ever so slightly upwards.

"Now about this boy…." I look up to see dad's fearful expression, round belly shaking in apprehension that Malfoy will strike a groping hand to me, and it's enough so that the tension breaks because I'm laughing. Mum joins in too, explaining that she'll fill him in on the details later.

"I'm going to go settle in upstairs," I pronounce, walking to the spiralled staircase with my trunk, glad that's over with. And obviously, I was worried for no reason.

Now that I'm thinking...maybe I should _prefer_ Mum to be away while he's here because then she doesn't get to know the real him.

It's so ridiculous after all; that I'm apprehensive. He just likes to play games but if I keep control…

He's not going to do a thing.

* * *

**_Friday Morning:_**

"_I'm off now Draco," she says, standing at the threshold of the front door, valise in hand.. "I look forward to spending time with you when I return."_

_I don't._

"_Bye, Mother. Enjoy Cannes with…him." I reply bitterly. I hope 'Jean' drowns in the bloody ocean._

"_Should you need to get in touch with me, just send me an owl." I simply nod, standing still at the foot of the steps to the drawing room. I turn around to go bathe but her tone stops me dead:_

"_Aren't you going to give me a kiss goodbye?"_

_I swivel back to my original position, about to ask her what's wrong with her voice, but her face quiets my anger. Her complexion, her outfit, and her long blonde hair are flawless; it's her eyes that shock me. The normally lifeless, condescending gleam that lies within the blue iciness are infringed with a silent sadness._

_Giving in to that face, I saunter slowly over to her, and hesitantly halt in front of her. She's the same height as me, almost exactly. I lean in and peck her stiffly on the cheek. She grabs my forearms as I return upright, and returns the gesture. She doesn't let me away as she keeps the grip._

_She looks straight into my face: "I hope you come to realize that I'm doing all this for the benefit of not only me. I love you, Draco. I always have, though sometimes I know it hasn't shown. I think you need someone in your life that can adore you for what you are, not what you can become. That isn't so selfish that he too encourages you to be the same as he - your father wanted you to be like him; didn't want you to grow up on your own. I saw it and I didn't try to stop it. So that's why I'm ending this now. It's just…too late. Everything is different. We can't live that way anymore, Draco. Please understand….I will see you in a week." I don't feel the embrace that she gives me as she opens and closes the door quietly._

_With her stinging words, her awfully accurate words, I saunter to the bathroom, hoping the water will wash away the pain._

"NEXT."

The memory of this morning instantly fades from my mind as I'm brought attention to the non-existent line in front of me. I decided reluctantly as I woke up that I should probably bring Muggle money to Granger's, in case we _do_ have to go outside. I'd feel completely lost without a stash in my pocket anyways. I've never even _seen_ Muggle money, but I recall Father talking to the Death Eater Rookwood about how outrageous it was that Gringott's would allow for money transfer to Muggle currency.

I notice the key I've been clutching so firmly to my hand once again; I stole it from Father's cupboard this morning. I walk steadily as I can up to the counter, where a very old, goblin sits higher than me in attempt to stress authority.

"Ah, Draco Malfoy, wasn't it?" he asks, and I cringe outwardly at the eerie recognition.

"Yes."

"Now what business would you have here?" he inquires harshly. I wince at the words. It was a gamble coming in here, after what happened to that goblin Griphook. Imprisonment is not taken lightly in any situation. Luckily, the Malfoy vault has been opened for centuries, and requires a lot of payment to be protected and kept inaccessible. With how rich we are, it would simply be bad for business. Or else, they'd be afraid that the _Prophet_ would catch wind and expose more goblin 'prejudice'. I can see it now: _Gringotts refuses vault access to wife and son of former Death Eater. _They eat that shit up.

"I would like to uhm, convert. Some money," I clarify, embarrassed. I know this probably looks so fishy. _Me,_ a Malfoy, converting money.

"Convert _money?"_ he repeats incredulously.

"Yes…._please_. I require some Muggle money." I say simply, though it's not very strong sounding.

Surveying me, he waits for a moment before speaking again.

"May I be so curious as to ask why?" _No, you most certainly may not._ But if I don't tell the nosy, he'll only be reluctant to serve me properly.

"I was assigned a project at school, at Hogwarts, wherein I've found myself having to visit the Muggle world to work on it."

He raises a thin, white eyebrow.

"Very well. And how much were you planning on taking out?" Drat. Didn't even think on it. I don't know what the exchange rate is, I've never had to care.

"I've no idea," I confess, and the goblin just wheezes a laugh at me.

"_Silly wizards, they never do think ahead on minute details. Just expect those of intelligence to do it for them."_

I choose to ignore his words, though fury threatens to flare up in my system. How dare he belittle me like that? It's not like _he's _ever been to the Muggle world!

"How much would you suggest?" I ask aggravated.

"How many visits do you intend to make?"

"At least 5 or 6," I guess, hoping to Merlin it's less than that. Though the details of the project were extremely painstaking, so I'm just wishfully thinking.

"Alright. How much do you intend to spend?"

Ugh, this is so tedious.

"As much as it takes to complete the task," I reply, again hoping it won't be too much. Mother won't notice money gone probably, since she spends it like mad herself. But who knows what this creature might let slip if she happens to come across him?

"And that would be around?" AGH.

"I don't _know,"_ I spit. "I honestly don't know how much Muggle things cost, alright? At most I'll be buying books, I should think, though how many and how expensive they are I haven't the slightest."

He frowns for a moment and then a light bulb pops.

"I have a proposition for you, _Mister_ Malfoy," he tells me, smiling cruelly. Ugh, he knows I'm at mercy because I'm so fucking ignorant.

"Yes?"

"There is a popular means of payment in the Muggle world called credit. They use cards-" snapping fingers, a small silver rectangle procures in his grasp, "like these."

He hands the object down to me and I take it lightly. Then scan it: a long string of numbers in the middle of it, the card reads in bumpy lettering; _Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy. _The top has the word _Gringotts_ to the right and the little scale emblem of this bank next to it. The back has a thin black bar stretching across it.

"When one wants to buy something, they simply ask the cashier if they can use credit; it is a very big widespread concept round the Muggle world, so most places will accept it. What happens is they swipe the card in a machine that tracks the amount owed to the bank branch of the person who owns the card. It's called a computer system." I look at this thing before me, completely confused; it's like he's speaking Parsletongue. I listen intently anyways. "They have a similar card that is called a 'debit' card; this takes money directly from their account; see Muggle's generally don't have vaults, everything they put in the bank is stored on these computers. The difference is that credit can be paid off gradually, so if they can't completely afford something they need to acquire, they can make minimal payments until it's all gone. Banks make money by adding interest every month the payments haven't been paid."

That seems stupid. Why buy something you cannot afford? Though I'm sure in the Weasley household it would help them quite greatly.

"My point, Mister Malfoy," he continues, smirking at my expression, "Is that you could use _that,_" points to my hand. "and we can track exactly how much something is, and convert it to our much better currency. We can take the money out of your vault to pay for things as you use it, so you needn't return," he says wryly.

This is kind of tempting. I don't have the knowledge and temper to try and process how to manage Muggle money. It's so very small, it won't be an intrusion. And it's also pretty ingenious considering I _can_ afford anything I desire. Materially, I mean. Just swipe and I'm done?

"I suppose…I suppose it sounds like a good idea." I say. I realize I've insulted it by hesitating to say yes.

"All I need is your key." Looks angry. Bitter old, greasy -

"Here," I shove it into greedy long fingers.

"Hmmm, this looks much like Lucius Malfoy's key…but surely you wouldn't…?" I try to push the pink off my face but I know it shows. He stares at me happily; like a cat cornering a mouse. _Damn_.

"He has no need of it, in _prison,"_ I stress. "Besides, it isn't any of your business, quite frankly."

He sneers, but ignores me.  
"Shall I set a limit, so you don't go overboard? Who knows what you'll get up to unleashed in a foreign place. We can go to the vault right now if you insist, and take out some galleons to set aside," he responds haughtily.

"No, thanks. I've places to be. I trust you, goblin. Gringotts has never failed my family. Except for last year's blunder in my Aunt's vault, I see no reason why you should affront me by suggesting I don't have any faith in this establishment or that I'll abuse it, and bring yourself down by suggesting that you might slight me otherwise." I retort coolly. He narrows its eyes at me; wondering what to take from that. I praised and mocked him at the same time, but I know I've gotten away with it; he can't say a thing now that I've given full permission into the Malfoy vault whenever he pleases.

"Fine. I suppose our business is finished here. Good day, Mister Malfoy."

"Good day."

With that final note I walk with my head held high up and out of the bank, and I slip the card into my trouser pocket. I hitch the leather messenger bag I'm carrying my books and records in tightly on my shoulder, whilst reaching in for the photograph.

As I step into the noon sunlight of Diagon Alley, I move aside on the marble staircase, and stare at the picture.

I take a deep breath, hoping to hell that this is the right choice I should be making.

The last thing I see before willing myself to arrive in the strange new streets of London is Granger's happy, smiling, toddler face.

* * *

**[Author's Note: Okay, so the Gringotts Visa card is a little far-fetched. But then so is the idea of Malfoy going to the Muggle world, and Hermione's parents going away for a dental convention cum wedding. So sue me.**

**Also, Darrell and Helen Granger? What do you think? I have no idea. I thought Jean sounded too androgynous to be Hermione's Mom's name, seeing as I made her girly and stuff].**


	20. The Wet Wet Peeping Tom

_**Wind me up, put me down**_  
_**Start me off and watch me go**_  
_**I'll be running circles around you sooner than you know**_  
_**A little off center, and I'm out of tune**_  
_**Just kicking this can along the avenue**_  
_**But I'm alright**_

_**- Jerk It Out, The Caesars**_

* * *

I realized a little too late that focusing on a face rather than a location is the worst possible thing I could have done to ensure a safe transport. I didn't even think of the hazard of revealing myself to Muggles. And I didn't contemplate about how scary it's going to be to arrive in their world in the first place.

In the split seconds it takes me to travel from Point A (Gringotts), to Point B (Who the hell knows), I try to switch focus in my mind from Granger's juvenile face to the single inconspicuous tree that is on the lawn of her neighbours, pushing away the impending fear of the different territory I'll be in in a moment.

At the sudden swift jerk, a change of direction, I cringe inwardly at my mistake; I'm doubting were I want to travel to. 'Determination' and 'deliberation' are important factors in apparition according to that twit Twrycross, and I don't feel either of those things.

_I'm going to be splinched._

Fuck, fuck, fuck -

_PLOP_

The loud crack of landing relief ends with me on my ass in the middle of pavement; I never was the most graceful appiritionist.

And oh lovely it's raining - no that's an understatement. It's an absolute_ storm._ The droplets are falling in sheets and they pelt me like I'm a dirty dish.

I shuffle to my feet, trepidation crowding around the rest of my emotions. I have no idea where I am. This looks like her street, but there is no single big tree in sight.

In fact I find myself at a junction of streets; they all look identical. Which path do I take?

_I don't know!_

I'm scared; I'm an effing coward, okay. I've never been physically lost before. Furthermore, I'm in London.

Oh hell, _London_. Not in Wiltshire safe at home, or in Diagon Alley safe from harm, but London.

_Muggle _London.

My chest hitches, and my breathing becomes rapid, like I just ran a marathon. Anxiety captures my entire body so I can barely move.

_What if someone sees me? What do I do if one of them talks to me? What if I can't find Granger?_

_She'll kill me._

I want to pull out my wand, but I _can't_; I can't be seen! I feel naked without that wand. It doesn't matter to me whether Potter used this wand to defeat Voldemort, in fact that's a relief more than anything, what matters is it's _mine. _It chose me. And without being able to use it- I feel vulnerable.

I'm wet now; completely soaking. My hair's plastered to my forehead and the attire I chose to don, that was extremely expensive and took me an hour to pick out, is probably ruined. I _could_ dry off, but I need bloody magic to do so.

I should stop probably whining, I've been standing here still for about a solid 2 minutes; I need to get a move on before one of those car things come to kill me.

I edge to the side of the road, and step timidly onto the sidewalk. I open up the buttons of my black blazer and clutch my carrier to my chest not wanting my music to get wet. I only own 4 records; I don't want them to become destroyed because of carelessness.

Ugh this is horrendous, is the weather always this bad in this part of the world?

_Stop complaining and move, you idiot!_

_WHERE! I don't even know if I'm at the right street, let alone district. Father always told me that Muggle neighbourhoods all looked the same in the city._

I look up from the panicky voices in my head past the roofs of the houses and see a vague tall building looming in the grey clouds that line the sky. Well I'm definitely in a residential area all right; the shops are over there.

_What the hell do I do?_

_Heavens, what is wrong with you_? You're Draco Malfoy; smart, rich, cunning, and good looking (R_ight?_ Right.). It's time to stop acting like an adolescent baby, running scared at everything you see. _Use your fucking head._

Out of sudden insight, I grope around my trouser pocket and feel for the picture, the only key to my survival of finding this place. But it isn't there. Wait, I was holding it. I was holding it and I must've dropped it.

I need it _now_, I hear weird noises, and I'm late. We never set a time, but I'd have thought 11 sufficed. It was 10:56 when I left Gringotts, damn you punctuality.

Get back on task.

I look frantically on the road and see it, turned over and wet; without hesitation I jump back into the road. Yes! I've snatched it and –_THWACK._

I feel a sharp smack upon my torso, a horn, and then a sensation like I'm free falling forever. But then I hit the ground hard.

Terror numbs my instant pain. It was one of those death machines, I know it was. Which means someone was driving it, which means….

"What the hell were you doing, you fucking swot!" I look up completely alarmed to see a woman about my mother's age looking out the window of the automobile. It's Slytherin green and looks worn out. I can smell fumes of something emitting from it. Luckily the thing is small, anything bigger might've killed me.

Oh fuck, now she's opened the door. She's coming to murder me.

I curl my body into myself, clutching my aching ribs. I feel like a cornered mouse. How do these Muggle social conventions work? Am I supposed to be punished because she can't learn to stop? Will she kick me?

I squeeze my eyes shut as the woman nears me. Her footsteps are loud in my ears and I hear her ragged breathing and then –_disgusting._ She's poking me.

_Stop it_, _Stop it!_

Get your filthy hands off me.

"Oi, you alive? Get up, you're scaring me kid!" She speaks in a Cockney accent, like she grew up in the slums or something. I slowly open my eyes and unfurl from the fetal position.

Her proximity shocks me and I let out a little yelp. Her chubby face is extremely close to mine, and I can taste her horrid breath. She recoils at my noises, her hair is now wet and frizzing into dyed blonde clumps, flailing wildly as she jumps back.

Muggles are so undignified.

_No_, I mustn't input such things in my mind. There are plenty of wizards like the Weasleys who are as improper as this. And Granger doesn't have that accent. Granger isn't ugly. This is just one person. I need to stop being so judgemental.

"Effin' Christ kid, don't be scarin' me like that! Whatcha doin' jumping out the middle of the damn street? I got places ta be."

She's _so _kind.

I stretch out, feeling myself for injury, blood, and broken bones, but I seem to actually be intact. Thank Merlin. I might've had to curse her if she'd done any real damage. My outfit and belongings probably cost more than her car.

"Excuse me," I say raspily because I've been winded. "But you're the one who hit me in the first place!" _You bitch._

"Well ya jumped in the way!' she bellows, no remorse for damaging a minor. "You should have seen me coming! Or at least _heard_ me in this. Piece a junk, innit?"

"Fine, whatever. Good thing my belongings were in my grasp or else you'd definitely have to pay," I reply calmly, steadily rising to my feet, brushing off myself, even though I'm just getting more sopping. I don't want to get too upset, provoking this monstrosity will prove to be a harmful decision.

She looks me up and down as I stand straight. Her tone changes when she next speaks to me.

"You don't uh, need a ride or anything do ya?" I look up into her face and she's slightly frightened. She just doesn't want me to report her to authorities.

"No. I'll be just fine," I sneer.  
She huffs for a moment but then walks away to her car, slamming the door and raring to start going again.

I know I need to move to make my point clear but I don't know where to go. I glance at the picture I've been clenching all this time, and try to will it to tell me where I should go. It's damp as a used umbrella though. I flip it around several times to try and make it dry, though it's useless in this downpour; but abruptly a faint script catches my eye.

It's wet but evidently spell casted onto the paper because I can still read it: _22 Parkhill Drive, Camden_

Fuck. I'm such an idiot.

How did I never look at the back of this? I inspected the front about a million times –

_That's cause you were too preoccupied with little Hermione, dolt._

Shut up.

I scan my immediate area, walking back to the sidewalk so the Muggle can pass in her vehicle. She glares at me as she passes. What is her problem? She thinks I'm going to merely accept an apology to the Muggle who almost murdered me? Petulant, fat….gah.

Anyways. I'm dreadfully relieved to see that I _have_ landed in the right place. The sign reads Parkhill Dr. on the street in which I'm adjacent to. I can hear the angels singing.

Tired of this nonsense, I decide to make a run for it, crossing as fast as I can to the proper area and hurriedly reading each number on my way down the winding, long, street. Luckily the rain seems to be driving off any pedestrians and miscreants. I just want to get to Granger's in one piece so I can effing go home.

I look to my left at the sixth house I've passed.

_70_

Oh Merlin. How the fuck did I end up at the end of the street? Bloody magic…

Fortunately nobody is around to see me looking like a fool, flapping about down the street.

_58_

I'm drenched. I'm so very drenched. And throbbing.

_36_

Sod it, I'm using my wand. I can't show up at the door looking like a dirty fright; it's not proper, and it's simply not Malfoy.

_22_

My sides are splitting from the ache of that fall, this is absolutely –

Fuck. I'm here aren't I?

The tree, the cornflower blue accents, it's all right here in front of me. The house is higher than I could ever have first thought, like a daunting challenge of will. It's surreal, almost. I have people to impress in there. I have _work_ to do in there.

I walk in a daze up to the front porch, taking steps slowly. The curtains aren't drawn, so I feel for the tip of the magic stick in my pocket.

Taking it out slowly, glancing incessantly around me, I take a deep breath.

"_Siccus,"_ I murmur, brandishing and flicking down my body discreetly. Instantly my clothes feel somewhat drier, but my hair is still mussed. It's not very effective. But I don't dare incant the spell louder, who knows what's lurking? My ribs will just have to suffer.

I remove my bag from the front of me to the side, smooth down my garments again as best I can, and push my fringe away from my face. I must _not_ look nervous. Cool and collected.

But I'm meeting a Mudblood's parents. No, I'm meeting _Granger's_ parents. Somehow the latter feels worse to think about.

But why should I care if they hate me?...I don't.

Definitely don't.

_Liar.  
_Shut up.

I pull my shoulders back, stand tall, and tape on the signature charismatic smirk I inherited from my Father.

_Knock Knock_

At first I hear no sign of life; after what feels like an eternity I want to praise the wizards and Disapparate the hell out of here, but I get no such blessing.

Movement and voices sound from inside the confines of the house, and all too suddenly a woman opens the door.

A very attractive woman.

She smiles big at me, and I just stare at her. She looks like Granger. I mean, _of course _she looks like Granger. But she has green eyes instead of brown, and, ahem, an ample bust. She's taller too. Though I'm still towering over her.

However, the smile, the slightly untamed hair, and the overall body type is strikingly reminiscent.

"You must be Draco," she says. I flinch at the usage of my first name, but I nod and keep the smirk on.

"Oh, don't be shy, please come in," she urges, and I find myself compliant. Then she surprises me by lightly grabbing my arm and tugging me into the lion's den. "Goodness, I had no idea that it was so awful outside," she says surveying me. "How did you manage to get here all on your own? Hermione informed us that you weren't used to London and our way of life."

I feel scrutinised but surprisingly not too uncomfortable. She's not acting as I'm a different species after all, the way I probably would have if our roles were reversed. I don't know why I never considered the fact that her parent's might be decent or decent looking, just goes to show how stupid I am. I remember vaguely seeing her them second year in Flourish and Blotts, but that was ages ago.

Oh, she's waiting for an answer. Say something, you git. It's polite.

"Yes, it is rather wet out there to say the least," I laugh, trying to keep my bitterness out. Stupid car-driving bitch. Her eyebrows perk up when I start to speak.

"I, er, used magical means to get here," I add, not wanting to elaborate seeing as Muggles probably hold no interest in this sort of thing.

"Oh, really? Magic? Oh, do tell. Hermione never tells us a damn thing, but I've always been so curious." She's looking at me eagerly and I don't know what to do. I by no means imagined Granger would hush it all up. Her magical life.

"I travelled here by Apparition," I talk slowly, like she could be a monkey. I mean, that's rude, but I don't know if she'll understand. At least she can speak proper English. "Simply, you think very hard about where you'd like go, focus a mental image within your brain, and well, you just end up there." I finish stupidly. How the hell do I explain it?

She furrows her brow. "Does it hurt?"

"Uh, slightly. Sort of as if you've been suffocated, but at the very last second you get to gasp for breath. After the first couple tries it isn't so terrible." Why am I even telling her this? I don't even talk to my own mother like this.

"Fascinating," she responds, and it looks like she means it. "Oh, but I'm probably boring you stiff, making you stand there while I ask silly questions. You must be cold; would you like some tea?"

Tea? Yes, yes I would.

"Yes," I reply. She raises an eyebrow at me again and says "Well come in, come in."

She sways to what I presume is the kitchen, so I take off my soaking oxfords, noticing a small pile of shoes at the door. I seize the opportunity to look around. Not bad, actually. Bit cramped in my opinion, but there appears to be no clutter; a true Granger house. Everything is white and monochromatic, but paintings and flowers seem to liven up the place, unlike my house where every area is dark so the décor just adds a gentle haunt to all the rooms.

I feel strange walking around in sock feet, but this isn't my house, and a Malfoy is anything if not respectful. _Snort,_ Who am I kidding? We`re absolute bigots.

I saunter along to the spotless kitchen, and I stand, unsure of where I should go or sit. There are a lot of weird appliances in here: besides a sink there's a big rectangle with 2 doors, what looks to be a fancy stove with knobs, and a square box that has a number pad on it. It appears I have a lot to learn.

"Which kind of tea would you like, love?" she asks suddenly. _Love_?

My throat catches. Feeling slightly embarrassed I say in a higher pitched voice, "J-just black tea if you have it."

She turns round at my voice, and grins amused: "Sorry, did I frighten you, using 'love'? I'm just so used to saying it to everyone. My apologies," she laughs, a tinkle like a pixie. "Now please, sit down." She ushers me onto blue stool. I take off my bag and set it neatly at my feet.

Apparently, the tea has boiled, so quickly might I add. I watch as the woman in front of me swiftly acquires a cup for me, retrieves milk in a carton, and sugar in a little bowl.

She pours in the water with the tea bag and then hands it over to me, pushing the condiments over the island in front of me.

"Thank...you, uh" She looks at me sadly for a moment, as if I am awful at speaking and really introverted. But no; I hardly ever say those words, so she should be grateful I even thanked her.

"Call me Helen." She smiles. She's surveying me, hands clasped and leaning over the counter, expecting me to say something like I'm the most interesting person on the planet.

In this bizarre fantasy I suddenly realize why I'm here in the first place. I don't add any milk or sweetener, and take a small sip of tea before continuing the conversation.

"Helen," I say (she grins wide when I say it), "where exactly is Gr-, uh, Her…mione?" I don't know if I've ever said it aloud. I wonder if she'll still call me Malfoy in front of them.

"Upstairs. She said she thought you'd arrive around noon because you probably sleep in," I smirk at this because normally I would, "but she herself overslept and was showering. The water is off, though I think she may need some time to get ready," she says winking at me.

I gulp. Jesus, Granger showering. She'd be lathering up her body, unworried about anything because she'd be alone. I wonder if she sings or lets loose in here. She'd be wet and naked of course, maybe tilting her head back as the hot steam rinses off the soap and… Okay, quit it imagination. I'm _not_ getting aroused in front of Granger's mother.

"I see," is all I say. And why did she wink at me just now? Is she suggesting that Granger is getting prepped for me? Impossible. She can be nice to me, yes, but she definitely finds me unattractive. In personality _and_ looks, since she finds people like Weasley and Thomas good-looking.

"So, I'm curious." I look up at Helen, and I'm afraid she's going to ask me something about my family. Not the greatest people in her eyes, I'm sure. "Hermione gave me the impression from describing you that you and she didn't get along. Is that true?" Eyebrows once again are raised.

Noooo, of course not. I only treated your daughter like scum for 6 years, my family wanted Muggles to be destroyed, and to my mother you aren't even worthy of being shit on her shoe. We get along great!

"I – it's remotely true." I say. I might as well not lie through my teeth, just ease into it.

She merely nods. "Yes, well Hermione's always had a difficult time making friends." How precious. "She always talks highly of her friends Harry and Ron though, do you know them? She was dating Ronald for a period of course." Oh, do _I_ know them. And she was _dating_ him? Hm, bad taste. "But I've barely even met them. I think she's scared I'll disprove of them, and in turn, her being you know, a witch."

_In_-ter-esting. I was not aware of this development. Granger actually _is_ fazed by something. "Well, whatever she thinks, I can tell you with certainty that she is very good friends with Potter - uh, Harry. And he's, well, an upstanding person." I reply sourly. It's true I suppose. He did save my ass twice last year. She smiles at me appreciatively.

"Yes, the Chosen One, or whatever nonsense people were calling him; Hermione found it a right laugh." She gazes up for a moment nostalgic and shakes her head. "So what house are _you_ in? Or whatever it's called. You seem like a nice enough boy, she's never mentioned you." Oh, I'm hurt. Surely my callous has had some profound effect on her life?

"Slytherin." I reply proudly. Her face falls for a moment. Oh, but Granger didn't forget to leave out the stereotype that every Slytherin is dark and evil and wants death, did she?

"I take it she doesn't think highly of Slytherin, then? No, Gryffindor's usually don't," I say. "But yes, _Hermione_ and I go way back," I chuckle reminiscing. Her face is still apprehensive. Have I said something?

"Is anything wrong?" I ask, inquisitive.

"Oh, it's probably nothing," she says. "Hermione just said that…last year, with the Voldemort man, that the Death people who were after the Order of the Pheonix were all from Slytherin, as were their children." I become rigid. How dare she bring that up? How _dare _she? I thought Granger said on the train that she'd modified her parent's memory! _What if she knows what happened at my house?_

But she couldn't possibly, because 'Malfoy' would've jogged her memory immediately. Suddenly I feel very out of place. My family tortured this very nice woman's daughter. I don't deserve the kindness she's giving me.

"That subject is fairly taboo." I state. Coldly. I pull my sleeve over my left arm self-consciously, very glad I didn't take off my jacket. She may know what the mark means, but had she not she'd definitely ask if she had the opportunity.

"I apologise, I – I have to confess I don't remember much about last year. Hermione was at school and then Voldemort," I flinch. "took over the Ministry or government, or whatever it's called, and she went off with the Order. And I just couldn't stop the intense worry I felt. All I can remember from the past summer is the worry and then relief when he was shot." She looks uneasy.

_School? _Shot?_ Order?_

Surely she didn't lie to her parents? She implanted a _false_ memory? She made them think the darkest wizard of all time was murdered by a Muggle weapon? And that Potter wasn't even the one to do it? That _she_ didn't play a huge role in the defeat of him?

What a guile minx.

Well, I am impressed. Didn't think she'd have it in her to do such a thing. She keeps herself out of the spotlight so her parents can live a normal life and not be wary of hers. Hopefully it doesn't backfire should they visit my world and hear the rumours...

"I can tell you Helen, that the war was a nasty business, and regardless of what occurred during it I'm thoroughly relieved that the Dark Lord is dead." Fuck, I used 'Lord'.

"The dark…Lord?"

"People generally don't use his name; too afraid. Most say He Who must Not Be Named, You Know Who, or…the Dark Lord." This is becoming awkward. "I mean, I suppose now he's dead it doesn't matter, really..."

"Yes, I do recall her using You Know Who when she was younger….anyways," she finishes. "This is definitely not a suitable topic of conversation. I'm sorry, Draco, I just have never spoken to any wizards besides that darling Arthur Weasley," ick. "And of course Hermione and her friends. But that was all brief."

Thankfully she's not suspicious, she's more concerned with how she's made _me_ feel. Which is scared and insulted, mind you, but what I used to be and what I used to like wasn't the most upstanding ideals a person should hold now, was it?

"It's perfectly all right," I lie. "I'd be curious as well."

I attempt to give her a small smile, but it's not sincere. She eats it up anyways. I take one long sip of tea and set it gently on the dish; I can hear a slight hum from overhead; what is taking her so long?

"I suppose I should get to work then, shouldn't I? I can go up to inform her of my presence?" She struggles for a moment; should she let this incredibly handsome boy with polite manners (for the most part), who is a potential killer, into her precious daughter's room?

Honestly, what is the big deal about being in each other's places of rest? It's not like we're going to fuck.

"I suppose…"

"Trust me Helen, my intentions with your daughter are anything but what you're probably thinking," I drawl, laughing slightly. And it's true. Maybe I want to ram her into the ground with my dick, doesn't mean I ever will. It's just hormones. "We have a project to do," I smirk.

"You're right, of course. It's silly, my husband Darrell is just a worry wart – thinks every boy who crosses paths with our Hermione has a bad agenda", she chuckles. Well I don't blame him. "It's upstairs on the first left, her room; she's never usually this unpunctual. I'll come to check up in a few minutes."

I thank her (again) for the tea and grab my still wet bag off the ground, using my left arm to clutch it to my chest; I can't shake off the worry in the pit of my stomach.

"Have fun!" she calls as hurry to the staircase. I don't think 'fun' is the operative word. I step slowly up the winding wooden steps and try to keep quiet. I don't want her to corner me on the stairs, i'd rather it be a lovely surprise I'm here to see her, her reaction I hope will prove to be most amusing. I am also curious to see her room too: I imagine it to be filled with hundreds of books, contain a small bed and boring decoration. I'm going to guess it's dark blue, the most generic colour. She doesn't seem the type to use school colours like red; too sexy for Granger. My room of course is black and green, but then, I've always _liked_ green. She wouldn't need fancy gear, would she? When she's not trying to impress men she's rather plain and boring.

I look to the left as I reach floor 2, and there it is. 'HERMIONE' rests upon the door in fading gold letters. I take a deep breath, suddenly a bit edgy. I've just realized I've never actually _been _in a girls room before. When Pansy and I had our thing, she'd always lumber over begging for cuddles, kisses, and sex. Her room was probably covered in vomitatious pink anyways.

Well here goes nothing. I turn the silver handle, opening the gateway to –

Oh.  
My.  
Merlin.

It isn't the fact that I take back everything I said about her being plain and boring. It isn't the royal purple walls, the dark wooded floor or the king-size bed framed in gold that shock me. It isn't the fact that the room has taste; with a gold and white antique vanity table, a small velvet couch next to a desk, lovely artwork lining the walls, and only _one_ bookshelf that creates spaciousness.

No.

It's the fact that Granger is sitting on the bed with somehow perfect hair, a gorgeous face, and is only covered by a fluffy white _towel. _A very short towel.

I can't move. I'm standing here like a peeping tom with one hand resting on the doorknob, trying to will myself leave, give her some privacy, but a bulge in my pants is forming and, just. Fuck.

"_Malfoy!"_ she shrieks softly. She's been staring at me in utter humiliation and silent anger the entire 20 seconds I've been staring at her. "G-get out. I'm not dressed! Please, just go! _Now._"

The look on her face (sad eyebrows and a frown), and the fact she's crossed her arms over her chest and nether regions snaps me back to reality.

Without saying a word I shut the door. And then just stand there like I've been Imperius'd, mesmerized by the thought of her luscious legs.

That – that _cad!_

Hasn't he ever heard of knocking?

How long as he been here for? Oh my _god_, he must've been talking to Mum! He wouldn't come up here uninvited would he? No, even he's not that stupid.

But what he just did was. Incredibly.

Ugh, it's all my fault for not waking up sooner. I stayed up all night trying to hide any embarrassing things round the house that Malfoy might've seen, and tidying up anally. I didn't expect him to actually come up _here._

Argh, _mum!_ I'm going to kill her. Not that I have the guts to tell her what happened. It's far too embarrassing, and makes Malfoy look like a creep, and we can't have her forbid his welcome.

_Sigh_, I'm so glad Dad is out fishing for the day with the boys.

I just didn't want to have sopping wet, unruly hair when he came over, but I _needed_ a shower. I did! And once I used Sleakeazy's Hair Potion from 4th year (it never expires) to help with the drying process (hair dryers turn my hair into an afro; afro's look awful on me), I got a bit carried away. I found all my makeup that I never use and thought that it couldn't hurt to put a bit on, just the concealer, some mascara and eyeliner.

And no, I _wasn't_ trying to impress _him._ I just didn't want 'Muggle' London to look bad. I wanted to make him feel guilty that he ever thought that we were uncivilised.

But now he's seen my chest…well some of it. And _too_ much of my legs. Okay, I know I've seen him naked, but it isn't really the same is it? It wasn't intimate like it was for me: Just sitting vulnerable in my room. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I sigh, and slide off the bed, not wasting any more time. I never thought about what I would wear, because I didn't think I'd have to, but now nothing will ever be suitable. If I cover up it'll show how embarrassed I was, and if I wear something low-ish cut or shorter he'll just stare at me. Well, maybe not. But, the one time I wore a scoop necked top around Ron, that's all he gaped at; my boobs.

_Boys._

I exhale heavily and grab a black bra and matching panties from my dresser, throwing them on hastily. I then sprint to my closet and rifle through it quickly. Nothing really pops out at me. I see a flash of dark green and grab it, inspecting the garment. It's a really simple cotton dress with long sleeves, a square neckline and stops short at my knees if I remember correctly. It's not too conservative and only shows my calves. It's comfortable too. I pull it on. Then I close my closet and scan myself in the mirror: not too tight or revealing. Now i'm unsure of what to do or say next.

But luckily my partner does it for me.

"_Granger?" _I hear muffled through the barrier that is my door. "I-I'm….I'm sorry." _Sorry?_ He gaped at me like I was a Dementor tap-dancing and all he can say is he's sorry. _Humph._

"_May I come in now? Or…shall we go downstairs?"_

Bugger. He sounds apologetic and ashamed, I may as well not risk going down there until absolutely necessary because I know Mum will be thinking the worst when she sees how I look; i.e. a lot better than usual. But that doesn't mean I'm not livid. Seriously, who does that? Isn't he always schooling people on proper manners?

I roll my eyes and meander to the door, opening it up and then putting my hands on my hips. He looks at me sheepishly, but I don't miss him gazing at me up and down. Stop it.

"Next time Malfoy, _knock._ Or I'll curse your stupid perfect hair off your stupid face until you're bald forever." So much for not letting him know he gets to me.

I swivel quickly and march to my bed, placing myself firmly on the edge of it.

I look up at him with his leather man-purse to see him smirking slightly. I ball my fists, _how dare he mock me! ?_

"What?" I demand.

He stands there in his aristocratic aura and says, "You called my hair perfect, Granger. Even if you threatened to chop it all off. Probably the nicest words that've ever come out of your mouth in regards to me."

_Stupid, ferrety_….no. Calm down Hermione, he's just trying to get to you.

"Yes well, my mistake then right?" I cross my arms. "When did you arrive here?"

His smirk flickers slightly, but only for a moment.

"About 15 minutes ago. Had a nice chat with your Mother over tea," _What! _"You should be happy though that I got here at all, I almost was killed in the process of arriving here."

"Happy? Well you _didn't _die_, _so why should I be happy?"

"Ouch, Granger, I'm hurt," he says, putting a hand to his head like he's in a Shakespeare play. "Your insults wound me."

I just glare at him.

"Oh come on, get your knickers out of knot, all I saw was some leg; you've seen _all_ my bits." He cringes. I blush.

"Well you could've immediately slammed the door like a normal person, instead of gaping at me like a circus freak," I say lowering my head. I glance up at him and he's raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"I already apologized, there really isn't much else I can do I'm afraid," he replies. Prideful git.

We sit in silence for moment and curiosity gets the better of me. "What did you mean by almost got killed? You didn't splinch did you?" I gaze at him almost worried, I would feel bad if he was hurt even if he is a snarky Slytherin.

"Should have done; would've been better than what happened." My turn for eyebrow raising. "But no, really," he continues. "I ended up at the end of your street rather than in front of your house like I intended to, and it's pouring like there's no tomorrow outside. I dropped that picture you gave me; nice face by the way," I knew it. I knew he'd take a stab at how silly I look, playing in the mud in that dratted photo.

"But then I saw it in the middle of the street and jumped for it so it wouldn't blow away. I mean, I couldn't exactly use my magic in plain sight, could I? It was weird…" he shakes his head. "Anyways,"

How is it that I can loathe a person so much but still find him incredibly….sexy. Yes, I used it. Sexy. It_ must've_ been pouring…his close-fitting trousers cling to his legs, his tailored black blazer hangs effortlessly off his frame and his white t-shirt is slightly see-through from the wetness. I can see his nipples. And his hair….what is it about messy hair that I love so much? Maybe because both Ron and Harry have that trait, but Malfoy's is clean and probably was nicely groomed before it got all mucked up.

I realize I'm staring but thankfully he's too engrossed in his story. "Then the Muggle lady comes up to me out of her vehicle and screeches at me about being in the way of her, and I'm lying there clearly hurt and –"

"Wait, what? You got hit by a car! ?"

He rolls his eyes like I'm an illiterate child trying to read a book. "Yes, keep up, Granger."

"Are- are you ok?" My question throws him, His face contorts for a moment and then returns to normal.

"Fine," he replies, staring at me sideways. "I did get here in one piece didn't I? She also didn't hit me very hard, but it was just rather painful. I uh, silently used _Siccus_ at your doorstep so I wouldn't be so muddy and wet. But it didn't work that well, obviously." His turn to be self-conscious. He looks fine.

"Oh. Okay. Well… lovely story. Did you want to get started then?"

He looks at me blank.

"Start listening to the music choices. I assume you brought yours along, or are we just going by your rule that you'll be picking out who we study?"

He grimaces and shakes his head.

"Never give me a chance do you Granger? Yes, I have them, where shall we play it?"

Good thing I scrounged around for Dad's ancient vinyl player when I got home. Wizards should definitely look into implementing computers into the system.

"Over here, may I see them?" I point to the other side of my room. He sways timidly for a moment, and then hesitantly reaches in and grabs 4 records, handing them to me.

I carefully look at the cover of each: Chopin (obvious), Liszt (also obvious), Tchaikovsky (hmm, good choice), and…..Paganini? But he's famous for the violin…

"Thought you'd might enjoy a little violin music," is all he says, shrugging at my gaping expression.

Well who would've thought he could be considerate.

"Uhm, shall we?"

"What about your selection of composers…or artists?" he asks.

"We'll worry about them after yours."

He cocks a brow one more time, and follows me along to the (tiny) couch next to my desk where I placed the turntable. Malfoy sits gently on the sofa, and crosses a leg elegantly. Sliding out his Chopin piece (Raindrop Prelude Op. 28 No. 15 in D Flat Major), I place it gently on the plate, and then switching it on I put the arm onto the record. I hear the distinct fuzz of a record beginning to play and then take a seat next to him, not wanting to be rude, but keeping as much distance as I can.

The song is actually...amazing.

The proximity and the intensity of the piano music flowing from into the room is creating a strange tension; it's nice, but also stressful. I look at the boy on my left and his eyes are closed contently. He's smiling.

Smiling. _Oh, god. _It creates butterflies in my stomach.

Please, lord, get this over with now, please. There's a handsome, cultured, but annoying as sin man in my bedroom, sitting 5 inches away from me. His long fingered hand resting in those 5 inches.

I feel a stirring in my chest.


	21. Shades of Grey

_**I think I'm drowning, asphyxiated,**_  
_**I want to break the spell, you've created**_  
_**You're something beautiful, a contradiction, I wanna play the game;**_  
_**I want the friction.**_  
_**You will be the death of me.**_

**- Time is Running Out, Muse**

* * *

Damn, who knew that Granger actually owned something other than knee length skirts and ugly hooded sweaters? I suppose she thinks that green dress isn't too revealing, or else, she didn't want me to think she was embarrassed by my slipup, seeing her almost nude. But it hugs her (surprisingly evident) curves, and only serves as a tease to me. It's just enough skin on her chest and legs for me to want to discover more.

And this setting is rather intimate too; a little loveseat in her _bedroom?_ I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and sense the tenseness in the manner in which she's placed; I gather she does _not_ love our seating arrangement.

I, however, am rather enjoying it. She has a really nice record player, and the music never sounded better. We're almost done Tchaikovsky now, and Paganini is last up; it was ingenious of me to bring that Paganini record now that I think about it. I didn't really want to. But since Granger was so surprised at it (his specialty _is_ after all the violin), I think that perhaps she'll sway towards my favour a bit more for being 'considerate'. I of course, do not want to do an entire project on him, but I feel like the letdown will be sweeter when I refuse any of her selections. Anything that isn't from the 18th – 19th centuries is horrific.

The final stanza of the music comes to a close, and I relax into the sofa. Nothing beats a good symphony.

Granger doesn't move, just plays with her now-tamed hair and averts her gaze away from me.

What's her problem? I don't bite….well…I don't bite hard.

"Are you going to switch it to the next one, or shall I do the honours?" I ask snarkily.

"Oh – sorry. I'll do it," she says, and shakes her head like she's just woken up from a dream. Well, who can blame her? Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger are sitting in a bedroom together, listening to Muggle classical music in a Muggle setting and I'm not freaking out. It's almost laughable really. Last year I wouldn't have ever in my wildest nightmares have imagined this happening in my lifetime.

She stands up and turns towards the turntable, giving a nice view of her ass, and in turn making my face grow hot because I'm staring. I can see her panty line and the placid, soft curve that separates her cheeks.

Fuck, I really must stop thinking in detail about the features of her anatomy. It will only prove disastrous.

_Don't deny it Drakes, she's a hot little number. You like staring._

Since when did the voice in my head sound like Nott?

And that is not true! I'd think about any female like this had they been this close and in this situation.

_Sure, sure. Whatever you say._

Okay, yeah, she's all dressed up nice, but I don't need a bulge in my pants; seriously, it's bad enough my hormones are raging. I can't tempt myself when I know I'm not having sex tonight. And definitely never with her.

Sigh.

"So, why Sonata No. 6?" she asks me, placing the needle on the vinyl and letting the incredibly sad tune pour out of its depths. I pop back into my regular consciousness and stop staring at her lovely buttocks.

"Because it has a piano harmony in it, _obviously_," I reply sarcastically, probably a bit too Malfoy-esque. It sounds almost forced.

I'm frustrated here alright. I haven't fucked or kissed or had my dick sucked in almost a year and a half. The only physical contact I've gotten are trite hugs and punishment curses.

"I'm just curious, you don't have to be so derisive all the time." She replies, glaring at me as she returns to her spot. I raise an eyebrow.

The truth about my music choice is that I listened to it about 500 hundred times on Friday in the sorrow I wept in from the news of my parents' separation. I'm not one of those who attempt to seek optimism in dark situations when there isn't any. Besides, this is the only sad piece I own and it isn't so heart-wrenchingly horrible that it makes me want to sob right in this room. It's only 2 and a half minutes anyways, I think I'll survive without crying any tears. Don't need Granger's sympathy.

"It's just so….. so sad." she says. "Music is so emotional-filled, is it not? Drives and steers you into the direction of what you're supposed to feel hearing to it. Doesn't it make you utterly depressed just listening to this?"

"Well that's the point, isn't it? You feel sad so you wallow in your misery until you're over it and then you move on with your pathetic life."

She scrunches her nose. "I usually listen to the happiest songs I can find and think the most pleasant thoughts I can think of when I'm down." She shrugs testily.

"That's the difference between us then, Granger. Eternal optimist vs. the pessimistic black soul. Though I don't think if I tried your methods they'd work; trying to remember cheerful things when you're failing to figure out a proper way to kill a man, and your life not to mention your family's life depends on assassinating that man, "The Most Happiest Wizard In the World" seems most ironically miserable to the ears."

Oh, _fuck_.

I can't _believe_ I just said that. It was witty in my head, but look who I'm talking to. Merlin, she probably loathes me. Talking asininely about her hero's death.

I open my mouth slightly in an effort to redeem my words, something I never do, but nothing comes out; Granger's eyes are bulging from their sockets.

"That was an appalling choice of words."

"A bit." She swallows harshly. I look at her slightly apologetic, and she just glances at me, still at a loss.

"I- I like the piece, that's all. Those records are the only ones I own, so I brought it over," I mutter, attempting to sail smoothly over that conversation bump. "I _can_ appreciate works that have skills outside the keys," I say smirking (half-heartedly).

"Oh, you can, can you? It's not just a nearly clever tactic to make me ease into your choice for the project is it?" she stabs, and a hint of a smile is apparent in her tone if I'm not mistaken.

"Teasing, Granger?" I cock up the brow. "Didn't think you capable of it towards 'scum' such as I. And here I was beginning to think you hated me."

She blushes slightly. "I don't _hate _you," she grumbles. _Really?_

"You don't?" I ask. "I do deserve it you know." I say, deciding it's better that way. Can't have her emote any affection towards me.

"Well…yes, you do. I'll admit in the past I've loathed you more than anybody. I don't hate you though….at least not this year." I smirk. "You just….get on my nerves. Far more than I'd care to admit," she murmurs.

"Oh, the feeling's mutual, sweetheart," I say; she flushes pink when I call her that.

"What, that I annoy you more than you'd care to admit, or that you don't hate me this year?"

My turn to flush. We really play silly games with each other don't we? "Do you honestly think if I hated you I'd be here?"  
No answer.

"You do annoy me Granger. But that's now because you're a Know-It-All, not a Mud-, not because of your blood. The pureblood mania left me as soon as I found out what being a Death Eater really feels like and what it requires. I'm not like that anymore."

I look at her and she's staring at my face intently, as if I'm a particularly nasty exam question she's trying to come up with an answer to.

"_At least…I don't try to be,"_ I practically whisper.

All the nastiness is running through my head before it's too late to push it out. Everything I've ever done; trying to kill Dumbledore, cursing Katie Bell, practically killing Weasley with mead, casting that spell on Granger so her teeth were like walrus's, refusing to acknowledge her and lower her pride by calling her petty names every chance I got, insulting stupid Weasleyabout something as menial as wealth (and Quidditch ability), boasting to the Slytherins about knowing the Minister and others personally, tattling to Father so that wretched beast could be killed in third year, being an ass to Potter (though it's his fault cause he started it), etc. God, I'm a prat.

I can't believe I enjoyed all those things.

I can't believe people wanted to be close to me to bask in my pureblood power.

I can't -

I feel a hand close over mine, one that is on my lap, and I wince instinctively but only slightly.

I turn my head slowly; she's looking at me, sad. Her expressive eyes pierce into my soul it seems. She looks a me like she cares. Like I actually matter.

This is the first time we've ever touched properly, I realize. It feels quite nice to be honest. I don't think I've had my hand held since I was 4 years old.

But no, this isn't good. She needs to let go, she needs to keep her distance.

She has to.

The music ends.

The silence is overwhelming.

After about an eternity Granger finally understands what she's doing. Her grip loosens and she places her hand back into her personal space.

Nobody says a thing for a few minutes.

"_S-sorry_." I finally hear her whisper.

"Don't be." I reply, too quickly. "I mean - just…_don't be."_

She's attempting to be compassionate towards _me_. And she asks for forgiveness.

"Don't apologize unless you really mean it."

More silence.

I at last hear her shift in her seat, and she stands up.

"Care for me to show my music selections?" She asks timidly, wanting this very tense and awkward period to pass along. I nod.

Maybe if I hate her music I can hate her again. This would be much easier if I hated her. I don't _want_ her to make me feel good. But she does.

Something in the way she affects me makes me want to…makes me want to try and get her to like me. And I don't know why. I've never had to do that before; people either drew to me like flies, and others just steered clear; it's always been black and white. And now she's the shade of grey that I don't quite understand.

She's trumped over to her bedside table and pulled something pink, flat and rectangular from inside the cabinet of it. She's on her bed now, feet barely touching the ground, across from me. Guess the couch is a no-no.

She somehow lifts up a section of the pink flat-thing and the next thing I hear are clocking and tapping sounds. A bluish light reflects on her face; very curious.

"What are you doing? What is that?"

She averts her gaze from her device to me and looks at me as if I'm an alien - her eyebrows knitted together. Then her mouth forms a little 'o', remembering I'm pureblood, and says, "It's called a laptop. A laptop computer."

_Computer? _"So…you track your credit cards and money on there?" I ask puzzled, thinking of what I was told at Gringotts earlier today.

Her mouth twists into a churlish grin for a millisecond (though unmissed by me), but then she shakes it away and puts on that know-it-all look. "Well, you _can_ do that yes, but that is not the primary use for a computer. Computers have millions of functions," she says. Then adds as an afterthought, "How do _you _know about credit cards?"

I blush deep pink, feeling like an idiot, and wishing I just kept my mouth shut. However, I will _not_ let her condescend me. Just because I didn't take Muggle Studies she thinks that I - she assumes - she doesn't have to rub my ignorance in!

I rifle around my wet pocket, and scout out the shiny card. I flick it at her onto the bed, and she flinches slightly as it lands next to her thigh. "Went to Gringotts this morning," I tell her slightly strained, as she grabs and examines it. "The old goblin told me to use that to pay for everything here, and he explained to me that credit card payments are tracked using computers -"

"Gringotts can give out credit cards! ?" she asks bewildered.

"Apparently?" I shrug. "Perhaps they have a demand to keep up with the times? I don't know how frequent ministry officials come out here and maybe halfbloods visit their families. I suppose it's a lot easier a concept to understand than trying to comprehend an exchange rate."

She scans the front and back, then raises her eyebrows and hands it back to me. "Were you _planning_ on buying something in Muggle London?"

"I reasoned last night that we were going to go out. I mean, I don't want to, but we will have to, won't we? It would be ridiculous to think we could just look up what we need to out of thin air; it isn't as if Wizard books will help. So I needed a means to pay, I wouldn't expect you to cover it."

She watches me silently for a moment. "That's very…. helpful of you," she chooses.

"I'll take it as a compliment," I reply, smirking. "So….what do you use your lap top for then, if not for money?" I ask, trying to hide my curiosity by replacing it with exasperation.

"All my music is on here," she responds. _Huh?_ "And it can be useful for our research. In fact, if you really do want to know what computers can do, I can show you," is her timid offer.

Do I care?

_Well, you want to know how her music can play on something so small, don't you?_

I don't want to express interest.

_But, your nosiness will kill you if you don't know._

Damn.

"Alright, Granger. Enlighten me."

* * *

I'm surprised when Malfoy accepts my computer 101 teaching proposal. Although, if he's willing to own a representation of Muggle 'technology' like a credit card, and he's willing to be sitting in my room in London, I suppose he really is not as much the same boy he was 2 years ago.

But god, I'm just so stupid. I held his hand. _His_ hand.

I hate having an empathetic personality sometimes.

It's just, I remembered how downtrodden he and his entire family seemed last year, not elated about being followers anymore. How desperate his mother must've been to lie on Voldemort's orders. He must have some sort of heart buried somewhere if his mother loves him so much. And he looked so sad.

I stand up and beckon my head at him, prompting him to come to the desk where I sit down on my chair and set my netbook on the surface. He rises up slowly and steps over to me.

"So I'm standing up am I?" He notes. I ignore it. I've already been too friendly to him.

"Look at the screen," I say, pointing at it. He rolls his eyes and shuffles closer to me, bending his back and putting a hand to the desk for support.

"Nice picture." I can hear the smirk. It's a picture of Crookshanks wearing a silly blue hat I knitted him, and curled up on my bed. I blush slightly, but shake it away. I love that background; I'm not changing it for him.

"What does it do, then? Besides display your affections for a feline," he snickers.

Besides his irritating mocking, he's hovering over me; this is not good. I can hear and feel his breath close to my ear, and his face is mere inches to the left of mine. My stomach flips.

"This tiny arrow," I begin shrilly, ignoring his proximity, and deciding to get my teacher on, "is called the cursor. You control it with the mouse; this here." His face creases as he watches in fascination as I move the small circular object, which in turn moves along the cursor. "The cursor is essential; all these little pictures and images you see (I circle the mouse around different shortcuts) are buttons. When you want to pick one, you click this button on the mouse. All buttons lead to certain programs which all do different things. There are hundreds upon thousands of programs; you buy them or download them. To get them to work, all the information contained needs to load into the computer for minutes or even hours depending on how large or extensive it is."

"Sounds very complicated and unnecessary."

I turn to look at him, and he's scoffing. But he's also confused; they're empty words to cover his incomprehension.

"Just wait. Here, I'll open up a blank document." I hear him mutter under his breath but I ignore it and click on the blue `W`: it pops open and I can see his face retract in surprise for a moment.

"See this page? It's what Muggles use as an alternative to parchment, or paper."

"Why?"

"It's neater and easier to read; all the letters are uniform. See these numbers and letters? The buttons?"

"Yes."

"They're called keys; when you use them to make sentences or just words, it's called typing. Here, want to try?"

"Not particularly." Of course he doesn't want to try.

But just to 'demonstrate', I type 2 sentences.

_Hello, my name is Hermione Granger. My school partner, Draco Malfoy, is presently standing behind me, acting as if he's uninterested in what I have to say about computers but in reality just doesn't grasp how they operate._

"Hey!"

My turn to smirk; I know how he works. Now he's going to want to prove me wrong, and try typing.

"That's very _rude._ I never said I was uninterested. It's quite magical if you ask me that a little letter can make another letter pop up on a screen. And it _is_ easy to read."

"No, but you're acting like I'm beneath you still. Which makes all the difference." I reply bitchily. Okay, maybe he _is_ captivated, but he doesn't have to put on a façade al the time that anything I have to say or do is irrelevant.

"Fine, move over then and I'll try typing." He shoves his torso over me, his elbow snaking over my chest and his hair almost touching my nose. I can smell something pleasant on his skin. And he's really warm; that's what surprises me most. He's so cold normally, I expect his physical being to be too, which is silly really but….his whole body looks like cool porcelain. Perfect, smooth….  
_Stop. You're just riling yourself up._

I look down at the keyboard instead.

I suppress a laugh as he uses his index fingers only to form a sentence.

"How do I separate the words…..and where is the period?" he murmurs.

"The long rectangular bar at the bottom is the space bar, and the period button is on the bottom left." I say smiling. It's kind of….cute, if I'm completely honest. Like educating a 3 year old. Though he certainly doesn't look like one.

After about 2 minutes he moves away, and stands up straight waiting for an assessment.

"Well, I tried." He says evenly, but an undertone of worry and embarrassment is etched in there.

_What miss granger fails to compreehend is that i draco malfoy am not always disinterested in what she has to say.i jst frankly fail to see what use computers have in ourr research._

"Not bad." I evaluate. "No capitals or commas, and some spelling mistakes, but for your first try, it's fine. I'll give you an Acceptable." I say laughing.

"Oh, shut up," he says crossing his arms.

"Oh, come on, I'm just joking," I tell him, pushing him lightly on the arm like I would Harry. I touched him again. Why did I touch him again?

Thankfully, he's smirking now, more amused than pissed off.

"Doesn't answer my question though, and also, how do you expect me to capitalize and correct mistakes when you didn't show me how? Tsk tsk, professor." He grins; actually grins. Oh god.

My heart is aflutter.  
It's so…_nice. _His teeth are straight and pearly white. He could get anybody to do anything with that smile. And it's so uncharacteristically Malfoy to look happy; that can only be a good sign since his normal self is less than amiable.

I find myself red in the face again and I look back to the screen to distract myself.

"T-this is what I meant by it being useful." I click on the Firefox logo on my taskbar and my homepage pops up, Google.

"Goo-gle?"

"This window, what you call all these programs I'm opening, is the Internet. The internet connects you to places called websites. Anyone can create a website, it just costs money to run, so mostly people join websites for free or for a monthly fee. Websites can have anything and everything on them, the key is finding one you like and can use. Some have games, some have a forum of people on it so you can talk to them, some have information, and a lot are useless. This one, Google, is a huge corporation kind of like Gringotts I suppose if I were to compare it to something Wizard. You use their facilities, they make money; it's a lot like how everything functions in the Muggle world. In Wizard England, people run small shops and own them themselves, yes? Well here that stopped decades ago; now one person owns many stores and many restaurants of the same name, or with several different branches, and place them all around the globe. Same idea happens on the internet. Do you understand?"

"I think I get the general idea." He replies. I look at him and he's leaning; arms still crossed, but nodding.

"Anyways, Google allows you to search for specific websites about absolutely anything you can think of; your search matches up with text from a page and you can click on the search results, called a link, and you can see if it's a good match or not."

"Okay?"

"Here, look, I type in….Chopin, for example," I state, and am pleased to feel him come closer again. Because he's learning, not because his chest is nearly against my back…

I click 'search', and the page loads instantly, the first result being Wikipedia. Pictures are underneath from GoogleImages in a row.

"Whoa. That's… very odd. How does it do that?"

"Not entirely sure, that's why Google is so brilliant…and rich." I add. I pick Wikipedia and push my chair aside so he can see. "Have a look. Use the rolling black button on the mouse to scroll down to read more."

"Well, this is….this is…..amazing," he says breathless as he moves the page up and down, the glare of the page illuminating his face. "I didn't know he grew up in…Ah, what did I do!"

_Romantic Music_ appears at the top of the page. "You've clicked on a link; the blue highlighted words are clickable."

"Oh. Okay. So I can look for _anything? _I mean….I guess it all has to be Muggle, but anything I want?"

"Yes."

"Crazy." The pure amazement on his face makes me so delighted. Nobody gets that look anymore. "Can you look up music then? And listen to it?" he asks almost excited.

"Yes, though classical is more difficult to find I'm afraid. I can show you later if you'd like, but…I think maybe we should choose who we're studying first."

"Oh, right." His expression deflates slightly. "Okay, well show me your choices then I suppose."

He shifts to my bed and sprawls on it, legs and arms spread, head rested on my pillow. I gulp.

"You don't _mind _me lying here, do you?" he asks, almost challengingly.

"No, no I d-don't. Except, I need to be closer in order for you to hear the song." I stand up again and move in front of the four-poster, hoping he'll move over. Or sit up.

Thankfully, he sighs and returns upright, as I tentatively sit cross-legged on the very edge.

"So what are your selections, Granger?" He's moved right next to me, and I don't know if I like it.

He's like a smoking habit; it's dangerous and potentially cancerous when he's with me, (because who knows what could happen from this relationship), but somehow I like it when he's here. Just talking to me, even if it's bickering. It's very different from the conversations I have with Ron, Harry, or even Ginny.

He makes me nervous; he makes me want to prove to him I'm not an idiot, even though I know I'm not.

God, he's just so irritating. Why is he just being difficult rather than a complete arse? I think I'd prefer him being a bigot, then we could just decide on what we're to work on and he can leave and stop manipulating my emotions.

But….since he's gazing at the laptop again, I suppose it's all innocent. I just get the feeling he enjoys making me squirm.

"If I'm totally honest with you, Malfoy," I start, "there's only one band; yes, not composer, but _band_ I'd like to look at. I do enjoy a lot of music, but they're my favourite. They're called Muse." He raises an eyebrow and frowns slightly. "Outside of playing, admittedly I don't listen to classical music regularly."

"And just when I finally thought you had developed some taste," he jabs, smirking.

That hurts more than it should.

"Come now, I'm teasing Granger, no need to look so crestfallen. I'm just incredibly set in my ways, as you probably already are aware. Little impresses me."

"_Well maybe if you opened your mind up a little…"_ I grunt, and he laughs.

"I'm sitting on a bed next to _you_, in your place of residency, agreeing to listen to your music, and learning how to use a computer; I daresay that's a far cry from calling you a Mudblood."

_Humph_. Stupid, obnoxious….ignoramus. "I suppose."

"Just show me the tune Granger, no need to be stroppy with me just because I'm right and you're wrong." _Agh._

I roll my eyes (seems like the fifth time in the past hour), and open iTunes.

"So the music will just…sound out of somewhere, will it?" I turn to him; he looks sceptical.

"There are speakers on here, so don't worry." I smile strained. I scroll down the list, trying to decide which song to show him.

"Wait, wait, wait. All of this is your _music?_ You just have this long list and er, you click? on one, and it plays for you! ?"

The look of adulation and incredulity makes this whole endeavour with the computers worth it. "Yes. Technology isn't so terrible is it?"

"No, that's…so much easier and organized." He says almost reluctantly. "Well play it then."

"Don't rush me, I'm picking a song, though I suppose it doesn't matter much because you're going to tell yourself you don't like it even if you do, because you're too 'set in your ways' to admit to agreeing with my musical tastes."

He laughs again. "You know me too well, Granger. But who knows? Maybe if I like it enough, doubtful, but if I do, maybe I'll at least profess my fancy."

"Oh, what a great pleasure that would be," I say without enthusiasm, the eyes rolling back again, his smirk popping up too.

Sod it. I'm just going to play it, my favourite song. It's really, just beautiful; I don't care if a meaning of a song doesn't have to be spelled out for him like in symphonies, if he doesn't like it even a little he's crazy.

I click play.

I can't help but turn to watch his reaction to the beginning; the synthesized drums and the pizzicato violin are probably things he's never heard before, combined or at all. It sounds mysterious and…a little sensual to be honest. I mean, the song has an undertone of complete sexual-ness in it.

He looks intrigued as Matthew Bellamy's voice fills the room.

_I know you've suffered,  
But I don't want you to hide.  
It's cold and loveless,  
I won't let you be denied._

The tension builds.  
_  
Soothing;  
I'll make you feel pure.  
Trust me,  
You can be sure._

The slap bass joins in, and I take a deep breath; the chorus is almost eerie, like a monotone choir, but the minimalistic yet intricate instruments just create something unreal.

_I want to reconcile the violence in your heart.  
I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask.  
I want to exorcise the demons from your past.  
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart._

I feel Malfoy stiffen next to me, and I realize I've been silently singing the refrain. I burn red, but hope he hasn't heard me.

_You trick your lovers, that you're wicked and divine,  
You may be a sinner but your innocence is mine.  
Please me; show me how it's done.  
Trust me, you are the one._

"_I need to use the restroom."_

_I want to reconcile the violence in your heart._

"_Pardon?_"

_I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask._

"Excuse me," he says and hops off the bed. He rushes to my door only to be bumped in the head as someone opens the door.

_I want to exorcise the demons from your past._

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Mum has her hand over her mouth at her mistake.

_I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart._

"It's fine, excuse me," he says impolitely and pushes past her into the hall.

"What was that all about?" she asks as she makes her way in.

"I don't know, we were just listening to the music I wanted to research for our project and-"

"HERMIONE." Her voice practically knocks me over. "Your hair! It looks lovely! And your face…you're wearing makeup? Oh, you sly little girl, why didn't you tell me the truth about this boy," she grins.

"_Mum!_ I don't like him that way, keep your voice down!" She walks over to the bed with a knowing smile.

"Of course not, love," she winks. Again, my eyes are rolling.

"I just didn't want to look frightful."

"I don't blame you, though. He was a little nervous talking to me, quite posh though, very educated sounding. And polite." _Polite?_ "Not to mention a looker," she adds wiggling her eyebrows.

"_Mum!"_ I repeat in the same mortified voice.

"Oh come now, love, I'm not blind. He's tall, attractive, clean, and is a very suave dresser with elegant tastes, obviously. I can hear the music from in the living room, ve-ry classy! Just your type, Hermione." _Except, _not! He's rude, obnoxious, and….oh, who am I kidding.

I do like him. He's annoying as hell, but I'm attracted to him, and truth be told, he has most of the qualities I want in a man; A strong opinion, cleanliness, eloquence (in speaking at least), good taste, a sense of humour (I know it's dry and crude, but it' s there),….tall with good looks. I _hate it!_

"No, he isn't, actually. He's quite irritating and very 'set in his ways'. We don't get along."

"Well then spending time together may change it, then won't it?" Always the optimist is my Mum.

"I suppose. Why did you come up here, anyways?" I ask probably a bit too harshly.

"Just wanted to tell you that Andrea is 5 minutes away, she's just called me from the bus."

"_Oh."_

"And she said she's excited to see you, and meet your special friend."

I sigh. '_Special friend'._

"So when Draco returns, come downstairs and have some lunch, I've made sandwiches!"

_Draco. _That word shouldn't be coming out of her mouth.

"Okay, Mum." Mum dances out on a cloud, elated at this 'juicy' piece of news about her daughter 'liking' a boy from school; one she's actually met. I could've just dressed up because my cousin is coming….

I exhale and hoist myself up, deciding I should inform 'Draco' about our visitor. He'll definitely love _that._

This is terrible, this whole thing. We haven't even gotten any work done!

Agh!


	22. The Skull & the Snake

_**All of this can't be real, the poor state that I'm in,**_  
_**Discomfort in my sleep may have brought me here.**_  
_**All the vows are broken, all the guilt that I'm wearin' of bein' here;**_  
_**Of bein' here so unprotected.**_

_**I live to justify to give the reasons why,**_  
_**You won't see right through me, see right through me.**_  
**- ****_See Right Through Me_****, Mobile**

* * *

Frantically, I push my way into the bathroom that was thankfully only 2 rooms down the hallway from Granger's room. Shutting the door quickly I lock myself in and turn on the sink so cool water pours out in streams. I cup a hand in and splash my face, bending down to steady my heavy breathing.

_Holy shit._

That song. And her.

My cock is utterly throbbing.

It doesn't even make any sense.

The lyrics hit me like a tidal wave; they not only reminded me of my mother and how she probably feels now with her French boy-toy, but the words are exactly how I'd want someone to feel about me.

_I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide. It's cold and loveless, I won't let you be denied._

More than that, I realize they're emotions I'd like to experience _with_ my lover, to discover the truth in the mind of another human being, to get past the exterior, with whoever that may be…  
And I'm a selfish prick. Why would I want to go and do that?

_I want to reconcile the violence in your heart; I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask._

That song was incredibly lusty, super sexy. The instruments were eerie, and it was intense. Whoever wrote it must really adore someone deeply.

And_ she_ was singing softly along to it. She has a beautiful voice. Who would've thought?  
_I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart._

Fuck. I unclasp my belt, and unzip my pants, allowing for the bulge to breathe a little bit.

I certainly wouldn't mind Granger satisfying my undisclosed desires.

But she wouldn't, and she can't. I expect even the thought of penises makes her blush; she seems the shy type.

Or else, maybe she _has_ done the dirty and is just extremely cautious about it; though she strikes me the type that would want to wait until the trust and devotion settles in like a 'grown-up' before sexing up anyone. I don't think she and Weasel went out for long though, and anyways, his little lizard is the last thing she should be touching.

But that just makes her more enticing; she hasn't dirtied her soul yet. I'd love for her to touch me roughly like she's never had before and for me to enter her unsoiled depths and conquer the sex goddess that's lurking beneath. To sail my fingers up onto her breasts, and past her untouched thighs and - Oh god, I can't hold it in any longer, I need to cum. I haven't in a long while because I apparently like to torture myself.

But this urge is too strong.

I step in front of the toilet, and pull down my boxer-briefs, allowing my dick to spring free from its restraints. I shove up my blazer sleeves, let my fingers grip around my shaft and begin the pumping. Immediately my breath is shallow, my mind numbs from the delightful sensation, and I feel somewhat naughty, doing this in a stranger's bathroom.

But it feels damn good. Merlin's beard, I forgot what this felt like. The warm flesh in my hands, exactly the way I want it to be stroked, and the lovely swooping feeling in the pit of my stomach as the feeling gets better and better.

It's building up, like the climax of a symphony, and suddenly I find myself with the melody of the Muse song in my head, filling up my ears and drowning me of the vacant state I want to be in.

My mind flashes to Granger, in her towel; Granger, in that purple dress playing the violin; Granger, yelling at me all sexily; Granger, teasing me about typing; Granger, telling me she doesn't hate me; Granger, touching my hand with hers.

I feel extremely tense now, the throbbing growing to its maximum, until I'm grasping the edge of the bowl from the arousal, not even wary of germs. I'm practically sweating.

A particularly heavy wave of stomach leaping turns my insides out and I let out a small groan.

Yet suddenly, before I can flush it out, my mother and father hazily cross my brainwaves replacing my forboden Gryffindor vixen.

They're fighting, coldly. I see them curtly kissing each other's cheeks, never hugging, never full on the lips, never passionately. And then I see the Dark Lord standing in my drawing room snapping Father's wand in half while everybody jeers at the sight. Now my mother reassures him later upstairs, but he pushes her away emasculated, the Malfoy's fallen. She's sobbing; now he's in Azkaban again, broken and a failure.

And then…she's not sobbing. She's holding hands with _Jean-Pierre_ in Lucius Malfoy's bed_,_ smiling like a child at Christmas, happy without the man who provided for her for over 25 years. Happy without the man who taught me everything and gave her everything she wanted except for true love.

And now I'm crying and wanking all at the same time, and the elated feeling I had has completely gone away. I'm too far in to stop pumping, and I feel disgraced and sad, because my body feels good but my mind is upset. The tears stream gently down my cheeks and I attempt to choke down any weeps that threaten to lurch up from my throat.

Then my peak is reached, and the sweet release comes. I really needed it to come. But instead of emitting a happy sigh or groan, a sob bubbles up instead.

Many more sobs fly up my throat and I fumble with my trousers and belt to make myself decent again, at least look the part.

That is, until I hear a knock. I suddenly remember I'm not in my house safe, I suddenly feel disgusting and ashamed.

"_Malfoy? Are you in there?"_ No, I'm not. Get out of here, Granger.

I finish zipping up, and flush the toilet.

"Yes, I'm in here," I reply, attempting to sound more irritated than unhappy.

"_Are you….alright?"_

"Peachy."

Nothing for a moment, then;

"…_Are you going to come out?_"

No, I'm going to stay in here blubbering all day.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist and take a glance at the mirror; red splotchy eyes, red splotchy eyes, red splotchy eyes, and _shame_ stare back at me.

I just had a lovely onanism session, _thinking_ _of her. _How can I possibly face her after that? And with my mind in a mess that matches my face. I mean, it's not like she'll know what happened or anything; she can't tell the difference between the boys who jerk off a lot, and the ones who don't, right?

I swallow my pride and straighten my clothes, then turn the knob and find myself staring straight into those eyes as the door swings open. Granger's eyes widen so I look at her feet immediately, avoiding her face for obvious reasons.

"Malfoy, were you cr-? I mean…..are you? Sure you're okay….?" Dammit. She knows about the weeping.

"I'm fine. What was the bathroom visitation for?" She flushes red and steps back so I can get into the corridor.

We're in too close a capacity for what I just did. I back away a few steps, pulling down my sleeves self-consciously, covering the mark and my dirty hands.

"Well, my Mum just informed me that my cousin is coming over in 5 minutes and –"

Something from downstairs rings and both our heads immediately flick towards the source of the noise. Granger flicks her head back to me.

"Um, I guess she's here now."

"Your cousin?"

"Yes….."

"Why would your cousin be visiting today?"

"My parents are leaving for a week and a half," _What! ? _"So I won't get to see any family for Easter, and no Easter dinner. She just wanted to come see us before they left."

"And why does that require you coming to visit me at the W.C?"

"Uh, I just, um, wanted to explain to you what was happening," she shrugs uneasily.

"_Why?"_

"Well, Mum told me that once you were finished in there to come down for lunch." _What_! ?

"Excuse me?" I ask raising my eyebrows. "I did not agree to come into your home to just fuck around drinking tea and eating crumpets all day! Are we going to do anything productive?"

She looks utterly taken aback. Her eyebrows furrow and she looks at my chest, avoiding my eyes. "I-I'm sorry. I know we haven't done anything really, It's just – I didn't know how long you'd be staying for and I'd hoped you didn't mind Andrea coming over too much, I haven't seen any of my family in such a long time and –" she breaks off.

Oh, damn her and her sad face. Because of being 'caught', I'm feeling embarrassed. Embarrassment leads to anger.

And I'm angry at her because my parents are split up essentially and hers are not, as idiotic as that it is. My mom cheats and my Dad's in prison, while hers stay happily here in oblivion.

All of her upset seems invalid to me; I've never had an Easter dinner, and I've never even met one of my Aunt's, while the other I have was frightening and insane. It's enough to make my blood boil.

_How can she be so inconsiderate? _I'm taking time out of my schedule that would be rightfully spent boozing, and she expects me to just follow along like a puppy.

"Granger, honestly, this whole scenario is completely ridiculous! Your parent's are _leaving_? So where does that leave us finishing the project? In case you hadn't noticed, we haven't even technically started yet and I've been here for nearly two hours. My mother is in France, and I doubt she'd appreciate you coming over when she's travelling even if you so desired!"

"My parent's already said you could come over here when they're gone, actually. It isn't my fault we haven't picked a composer yet, you told me we could listen to choices_diplomatically _today! What is wrong with you?"

I realize I've been raising my voice, but this is ludicrous.

"What's wrong with _me?_ Granger, don't you get it? I'm a wizard, a pureblood wizard. I don't know how to act around these people. I don't even know what half the stuff in your home _does_. I'm in fucking Muggle London for the first time, and I've already in that short span almost gotten killed. It's bad enough I had to have a little heart to heart with your_mother_ of all people, does your cousin even know you're a witch?"

She shakes her head, and stares me down. "You agreed to come here, don't be quick to forget -"

"I didn't bloody forget!" I holler.

"Then what's the problem?" she hisses lowly, hands on her hips.

"What am I going to say to your cousin, who I'm no doubt going to meet? Or dear daddy and mum? What if they ask me what I like or if I've ever done an activity that is entirely Muggle, huh? I can't answer that if I don't know what anything is. What if I slip up? They, at least your Mother, aren't exactly in the know."

"What's that supposed to mean!" She practically shouts.

"Don't get so livid, you're the one who modified their memories," I say calmer so she doesn't get any more riled; she looks almost deranged. I'm not even trying to fucking insult them, she should shut her mouth. "You made them think that the _Order_ was with you the entire time last year, that you actually went off to school and that Voldemort was defeated by a _gun."_

"H-how did you know that?" she asks utterly flabbergasted.

"Your mother asked me about magic, and we ended up on myself being sorted into 'terrible' Slytherin, which then landed us on the topic of what occurred last spring because _all_of the Death Eaters are in Slytherin, and subsequently what happened to you. She doesn't remember it. Seriously, what happens if they ever do go back into say Diagon Alley, or meet Potter, huh? Do you think he'd think it's fair for you to alter the real story? Everyone will flock to you asking questions if you go out; you were extremely wanted during the takeover and therefore are now well-known throughout the public eye. How could you be so daft?"

"Excuse me? _Me, _daft? I was only trying to protect the ones I love!" She whispers angrily, so very upset. She's embarrassed and annoyed that I'm calling her on her idiocy.

"Yeah, you were, but why _lie?_ Fucking hell, Granger, this is a powerful maniac we're talking about, someone who was so terrifying that we didn't even say his name. I still can barely utter it in a normal frame of mind. And you were one of the mains behind bringing him down. That's not exactly an easy feat to stifle."

"I know it isn't!" she shrieks. Why is she so irate? "Do you think if I told them all the details though, that _you_ would even be _allowed_ to step into my house?" she points. "They don't need to be afraid for me, I had to modify their memory so they'd be safe from harm in the first place, why confide to them everything unnecessary? They know he died, they know Harry and I had a big involvement. They don't need to hate everyone who was on the bad side. Be grateful I never told them about how much you hated 'people like us', and what you've done to me in the past. If I told them half the things you've wished upon me, my dad would be on you like nifflers to a diamond factory." She's fuming, and I'm fuming too. What cheek, she has.

"What if they find out the hard way what I am? Who my family are? You must've told them something about me, and besides saying 'a pureblooded arse', a term they probably didn't understand because you're too 'kind' to tell them, all you can really say is that I'm rich and in Slytherin which clearly you did neither."

"I told them you were rich," she bites, thinking hard now it appears. What _will_ she do if that lovely occasion arises?

"What if they see my Dark Mark, huh? What then? Your mother heard me even say 'the Dark Lord', for Merlin's sake. I'm sick of lying, of being deceptive, how the hell do you keep wizard ideas out of conversation when speaking to your family? God, if your parent's are anything like you then they won't care who I used to be more than what I am now." She gets that taken aback look again, mouth agape, and confused. I suppose that was almost a compliment.

"Sick of lying? Don't pretend like you've all of a sudden become a saint," she mumbles. I let out a cold laugh. "I am free to do as I see fit, and I don't need my family involved in something they really didn't have anything to do with; I don't want them to worry for me when I'm perfectly alive. And even if I wasn't, they'd be safe for the most part; happily carefree because they didn't think they'd ever had a daughter! Plus I really don't care if I've become famous or whatnot. And you're one to talk. Who knows how many times you've lied to a teacher? How many people you used and deceived to get your way, or made your band of cronies do your bidding, not caring of the outcome of their fate? Your father spent his entire life in lies, buying and manipulating his way out of every situation that he found himself in, probably taught _you_ to do the same. Even your mother lied –" she stops, putting a hand to her mouth at my expression, remorseful at what she just said.

_How dare she. HOW DARE SHE?_

"Excuse me? _How dare you? _How dare you insult my family! My mother lied about _what_?"

"Nothing," she says frigidly. Her tone suggests the conversation is over.

"No. You will tell me what you were going to slander about my mother."

"No."

"_Yes."_ She must see my fists balled, because she steps against the wall nervously.

"You ask her about it yourself. Now let's go, my Mum is waiting down-"

I grab her wrist which was still dangling in the air and yank her towards me.

I don't understand how somebody can go from being so attractive to being a complete….a complete _cunt_, all in the span of 10 minutes.

"You tell me what it is that you think she did, you tell me right this second," I whisper, boring into her eyes. Her mouth dangles downward and tears begin to well up into her eyes, obviously frightened at my proximity.

I don't care, as much as I hate my mother and father now, they're still my family. My mother is a good woman, and she doesn't lie! How dare she badmouth her? Curiosity is also overwhelming my rationality at her abrupt end to her sentence.

Lips are still clamped.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you bloody can!"

"Trust me, it isn't bad for you. But it would trouble you far more than make you satisfied," she says apprehensively.

"That only makes me _more_ curious, dammit! How surprising could it possibly be?"

"Oh, it's completely strange when put in perspective of your life. Trust me." She stares at me meaningfully, but I'm too pissed off to care about the look.

"Well if isn't so _bad,_ then maybe you can, you know, fucking tell me!"

She stands defiant.

"You hid in exile for months with the accompaniment of Potter and Weasel, and then yes, had some misfortune in my house I'm not going to downplay it. You helped out a lot in the defeat in the big war, but other than that, what happened to you? It can't have been that terrible until you ran into those snatchers. You lied to your parent's about your suffering and glory, and fine, that's your decision, but if you know something I don't about my mother, you damn well better tell me!"

She looks completely insulted, and tries to wriggle free form my grip, but in my current state, I retaliate by grabbing her other wrist, and push her against the wall. All I can see is red.

"_Let go of me."_

"Not until you tell me," I growl.

"You vile, disgusting…ignoramus!" she spits. "Leave me alone! How dare you suggest that everything I've been through is trivial compared to your _'tortured soul'. Back off._"

My frustration and emotions reach the turning point, the pending eruption of a volcano, then the words burst from my mouth that have been begging to be told to everybody my age who assumes the worst about me.

"You think you've had it rough, Granger? You think Potter had it rough? You have no fucking idea." I let go of her, but she stays put, shocked still by my sudden tone. I need to explain this to someone; I need someone to understand how I feel.

"You think I wanted to receive this lovely gift?" I spit, revealing my left forearm, the skull & snake, wherein she flinches. "It was the most painful fucking thing I've ever experienced; like 60,000 knives coursing through my arm down my throat and into my very soul, leaving it forever unclean. You think it's been easy living my 'rich' life, my father never thinking I'm good enough while my mother confused me by saying I was perfect, yet both putting an end to any friendships I made with 'unworthy people'? Did you ever stop to think that maybe there's always been a part of me that's resented the hatred towards lesser bloods my family has, that maybe I was self-conscious of being mocked by people I was made to hate so I put on a front and bullied them instead? Did you?" She does nothing, at a complete loss at my sudden lunacy.

"You think I _wanted_ to ache for hours attempting to assassinate someone whose skill is probably 10X that of mine? It is utterly terrifying when the man you are supposed to kill offers you help and you can't say yes because you and your family are dead if you do. And I had to pretend I was happy about being chosen to everyone who knew, I almost killed 2 people!" she's looking at me as if I'm mental, slowly shrinking away from me. "At first I thought it was an honour and flaunted it, especially to Snape, but then I knew like everybody else already had that the only reason I was doing this is because my father failed at his task to get a prophecy."

"Malfoy, I –"

"I don't enjoy watching people suffer, okay! I mean truly suffer, like being tortured or killed. I may jinx someone occasionally, but I never would intentionally wound you fatally. But no, I had to watch horrorshows and _like _it. If I didn't laugh or applaud at some blood traitor or Muggle's misfortune, usually being Imperius'd to do horrible things or being tortured, I'd get Crucio'd by some Death Eater or my Father on _his _orders. I was a mere plaything of the man I was supposed to worship. I was petrified by the Dark Lord, and I knew my father was too, which was most pathetic because he reached forth in the first place to join him. I did all of that because I yearned to be like my father, powerful and rich." I don't know why I'm letting slip all of this, but the words just pour out and won't stop, "It took me about 16 years to realize that he wasn't powerful at all, just devious, obsessed with being in the good books of everybody. Even if he could stop being a Death Eater, which nobody could, he was absolutely manic about becoming the most faithful servant again, and I had to stand afraid and watch while a snake and its owner lived in our house. My mother in all of this, Granger, was never interested in the Dark Arts, but she still loves her family, loves _me._ Even if Snape had planned beforehand to help me, she asked him first; they knew she'd ask. I know my parents are discriminatory, but that's how they've been raised. That's how I've been raised, but look where I am. I'm not refusing to talk to you like I'm 13 years old anymore." I take a deep breath.

"I-I know you aren't but – "

"Just let me finish," I say desperately. "Granger, my mother is a good person, but she's been cheating on my father for who knows how long, and now she's getting engaged to some stupid Frenchman." Oh god, I feel the tears again. "I found out 2 days ago. She's been lying to me for a year; it would be just a fucking blessing if you could tell me anything you know." I try to blink back the water in my eyes, but my emotions betray me, and a stray tear rolls down my cheek. I don't bother to wipe it away; I'm too frazzled.

She's looking at me with a mixture of empathy, wonder, and hatred. Her breathing is somehow as heavy as mine, and finally she speaks.

"She – your mother; Harry told me that when You Know Who used Avada Kedavra on him…you know how the soul in Harry that was his, Voldemort's, got destroyed after Voldemort cursed him?"

"Suuure?" I say, contracting my brows, not comprehending what she's getting at.

"Well Voldemort asked your mother to check whether or not he was still alive after the fact." My throat hitches; I never knew this!

What she says next I could never have been prepared for.

"And when she checked on Harry, she whispered to ask him if you were still alive, if you were in the castle. He breathed a yes back to her, and – and she lied to Voldemort; she said he was dead. Half the reason Voldemort was defeated is because Harry was able to feign death until he was distracted. Your mother made that possible. She and your father wanted to go looking for you and she risked her life just for the opportunity to do so."

I feel as if I've gone deaf; a buzzing sound grows louder in my eardrums. I can't believe they'd….that she…that father….that they'd betray him for _me_. That they care that much. And I was a completely heartless asshole this whole time.

I slide to the ground, my knees weak. Holy fuck.

"_Hermione, what is taking so long? Is everything all right?"_ I forgot about where we were.

Suddenly I snap out of the funk of lividness I was in, and rejoin the real world, realizing what a jackhammer I've been. I look up at Granger, and she's no longer a bitch on my eyes. She was right, I do feel troubled. she was trying to look out for me even though she was angry.

God, now she's attractive once more, and I want her to hold my hand again instead of berating her. I want her to stroke my hair and tell me my family will be all right.

I feel like an idiot, getting so angry at her…when I started it. She insulted my family true, but I _was_ yelling at her. Merlin. Why did I have to all of a sudden become all emotional? It was much easier to deal when I hated everyone

I'm absolutely drained now. My lungs are raw from giving her my life story, and from choking back the tears. And also I'm spent because I had the orgasm of the century, super aroused to super deflated and weepy in 10 seconds.

Fuck, what have I done? I've just ruined the small relationship we finally managed to build; I torched that bridge. I doubt she even wants this loony 10 inches near her.

I need a stiff one.

"Yes, mum, we're coming!" she yells, looking at me questioningly. With a huge effort, I pull myself to my feet and with the non-existent dignity I have left, I wave out a hand; _After you._

Granger looks at me like I'm disturbed, and walks towards the stairs, me silently in tow.

"You alright," she asks stiffly, as if she doesn't care but it's obligatory.

"I – no."

"Will you be?" we're stepping silently down the carpeted steps now; and I'm aware that I still probably look a mess. So to answer her; _probably not._

"Possibility."

"Okay_. Try to act normal now, yes?_" she whispers in contempt as we reach the bottom floor.

Shit, I really pissed her off. At least I didn't call the c-word out loud.

This is going to be fun, talking to her Mum again.

We turn the corner round to the living room to spot Helen and another lovely girl with short blackish-purple hair and a polka dotted tea dress standing , chatting. Her face immediately lights up when she sees Granger, and she runs over to her cousin.

* * *

"Hermione!"

Andrea has me engulfed in a hug before I can utter a word.

It's nice, being hugged. Feeling loved. I wrap my arms around her skinny frame.

This is so much better than upstairs; what the Devil's snare was _that_ all about?

I do feel terrible about Malfoy's parent's splitting up, it can't be easy to find that out in the middle of a busy school year. But that's no excuse. He needn't get so _angry_ at me! It hurt far more than it should have when he was insulting me, I still feel stung. How can he school me on 'lying' to my parents and then basically break down when I point out to him that he's been a liar all is life? I went a bit far with insulting his parents, but now he at least knows the truth behind his mother.

But seriously, I think he needs a trip to St. Mungo's, he's clearly unstable. And to think I have many more visitations from him to come. And he was quite right; we haven't gotten anything done. But lord, I just wanted to see my cousin thank you!

It's so infuriating. I was just beginning to like him, have a justification for being attracted to him, and then he ruins it. Crying doesn't make me immediately forgive someone, even if it _is_ him. I just understand that it must be awful and heart-breaking; you often forget that terrible people are still humans after all.

Maybe I shouldn't have told him anything. I don't want Narcissa Malfoy to have a death wish upon me.

"How are you lovely? You look so beautiful! Finally decide to get all dressed up every day?" Andrea twinkles, running her hands playfully through my hair. I zap back to the present. I smile despite my troubling thoughts, grabbing her hands an pushing them away.

"I'm fine, lots of stuff to do, you know, with school and everything. And, no, I don't er, usually dress like this," I laugh nervously. "How are you?"

"Oh, cor, super busy! What with working basically 12 hour days and then parties all night on weekends. I can't seem to give them up," she giggles. Suddenly her mouth pops open a bit and she cocks her head to the side. "And who might you be, handsome?" she addresses my guest, and I blush slightly, though I don't know why.

I turn my head around and he's standing there very awkwardly, an unsure but amused look about his face.

"_He_ is Hermione's school partner, and the reason she looks all fancy today," Mum says (without any tact) behind me. _Bugger_.

"_No,_ mum," I say exasperated scowling at her, not even that embarrassed anymore because I'm no longer feeling the stirring in my stomach from him, just annoyance.

"Does he have a name, then? Can you speak English, darling?" she says to him kindly. He rolls his eyes, but smirks, evidently charmed by Mum and Andrea's flattery.

"Draco Malfoy," he says in that drawl of his, nodding to her.

"Ooh, interesting. Sounds exotic. Are you originally from England?" Oh, god, now she's going to talk to him for ages and he's going to hate me even more.

"Yes, my family just has a flare for picking unusual first names." Andrea laughs, and he raises an eyebrow crossing his arms.

"Shall we go sit down? I've made some sandwiches and boiled the tea. We can catch up." Mum smiles at all of us, and reluctantly I follow suit as she ushers us into the living room. Malfoy trails behind me uncomfortably and surprisingly sits beside me on the two-seater couch while Andrea & Mum sit on the longer one.

True to her words, there is a large tray on the coffee table.

I pour out tea for two, and politely pass a cup and saucer to Malfoy, who mumbles something incoherent. Probably thanks.

"Milk?" I ask him.

"No, no. Black is fine."

Riveting conversation we're having.

Andrea, never one for silence, plops a scone onto her saucer and says "Soooo, Hermione. Did you ever manage to snag that Ron gent you always talked about?" I clank my tea cup against the plate, and blush furiously. This is _so_ not a conversation to be having with _Malfoy_ here.

"Y-yes, we did go out actually….it didn't really work out like I thought it would."

"Oh," she coos sympathetically. Mum whispers something in Andrea's ear and Andrea widens her eyes. This is what I get for confiding information in my mother; I want to curl up and die.

"So then are you and Draco….?"

I hear Malfoy cough a lungful of tea up, and the redness worsens.

"No we're just….friends. Just friends. We have a school project in music, and we need to work on it." Malfoy nods.

"Oh," Andrea huffs disappointed. Mum looks at me strangely.

"Speaking of which, how is that going? I thought I heard some yelling upstairs, no skirmishes were there?"

"Some yelling, huh?" Andrea lewdly states, and I just sink into the couch. It was definitely not sexual, or even passionate. It was horrible.

"Oh, we were just arguing about who we were going to research," Malfoy explains smoothly. _What?_

After all that talk about lying, he sure doesn't practice what he preaches.

"Must've been fun, trying to argue with this one," Mum laughs. _Hey!_ "Bossy used to be your middle name, love, wasn't it?"

"And here I was all these years thinking it was Jean….." I mumble dryly, though Malfoy chuckles almost silently. I glance at him and his face goes void of any laughter.

"So who did you ultimately decide?" Andrea questions.

"Ah- well, we"

"Muse."

_What!_

"Oh, I LOVE Muse! They are so good live! Remember Hermione, when we went 4 years ago?"

I can't even speak. This does not compute. Draco Malfoy agreeing with- _is he serious? !_

"Is that who we picked?" I ask looking at him baffled.

"Yeah, it was, Granger."

"Oh, how sweet! He uses your last name. Do you use his too?" Andrea asks, fascinated like she's never seen a teenage interaction before.

"As matter of fact, yes. We've never quite tried the first names on for size." I say wryly. What the heck is going on? Malfoy is like a mixed concoction of feelings that I'm slowly drinking; Today is _completely_ mental.

"Ooh, speaking of which, I brought you some Voggguuue!"

Oh, please no. No more Vogue clothes, they've messed me up enough. If I didn't dress up I wouldn't even have Malfoy here. But she looks so elated that I smile, and shrug.

"Some Vogue?" Malfoy asks, confused.

"_Clothes._ Designer clothes_,_" I clarify for him.

How can I hate him when we're doing Muse! _We get to do Muse!_

"Are you even allowed to take these? I mean, don't they get tired of you taking the model prototypes after all these years?" I laugh.

"Eh, I am Assistant-Editor, and I've been there for only 5 years. I've earned the privilege; they can't say shit, oh excuse me," she says giggling, while Mum shakes her head disapprovingly.

"Now come! Let's go try them on, maybe do a little fashion show, huh?"

"Um, no." I say. Absolutely not!

"Uhhh, yah-huh! I'm sure Draco doesn't mind, do you hun?"

"Not at all," he says amused. Git!

"See? You have your project topic, hell I'll buy you some books if you need it, let's skedaddle."

Before I have time to protest, she drags me off the couch, with my finger still in the air, and I'm being pushed into the laundry room with a big black bag. She enters the room with me too, and shuts the door.

"So! How did you manage to snag such a tasty partner?" She is such a 16 year old at heart.

"Malfoy?" I ask.

"Yes, Draco. Aw, look at you using his last name." She pushes me cutely.

"Um, we were kind of forced, I am not really close to him at all," I say.

"Blimey, though, he is delish! Can you hear that accent, uh, so refined! I live in poorsville you see, I spend way too much dosh to afford a nice house. So all I hear are the awful slangy youth in my neighbourhood, which has caught onto my vocab too. But anyways, he's eloquent, and his clothes and hair are divine, he has a pleasant smile, seems nice enough, geeeez what are you waiting for, love?"

"We…we just kind of have a history, he hasn't _been_ the nicest guy," I say awkwardly.

"Did he hurt you!" she asks, eyes wide.

"No, no.." Well, yeah. But not that badly I suppose. "We are just quite opinionated and opposite. His family is just rather snooty, and well, erm, at my school he's with the crew that generally looks down upon everybody else. Though I'll admit he is a lot better than previously. I mean, he wanted to do Chopin or Franz Liszt for our project, but he agreed to do Muse, a band he's never even listened to."

"Aw, a compromise. Well maybe he likes you! Here try this on," she says, shoving a purple dress my way. It's silk.

"Doubt it." I pull my dress over my head, still awkward slightly about my girlie bits, and put the new one in its place. It barely reaches my mid-thighs, has a deep-v, and is ruffly. I think I look silly. Oh, and it's super tight.

"Why do you doubt it?"

"Well...even if he might find me attractive, he'll never like my personality. I don't particularly like his."

"Hmm. Damn, you look hot. It fits! Let's go show that hunk of man." She winks.

Oh, Merlin's pants.

"No, really, I'm fine. I'm sure he's bored with mum, we need to do some work anyways, and –"

"Come on, aren't you the least bit curious about if he thinks you're sexy or not? Even if you don't like each other, you'll have the knowledge that you make him shake in his boots."

She has me there, even though I'm afraid he'll grimace when he sees me.

I tentatively turn the door knob and I step back out onto the white carpet.

As I take a thousand years to get back into the living room, when I do, I hear a snag of breath. Malfoy has that dessert eating expression on him again.

His eyes are no longer splotchy and sad, and his smirk plays up the smoulder in his eyes. I guess I found out.

And darn it, Andrea _is_ right; he is delicious. I still think he's a total arse, but at least now I know he has feelings. He just better apologize for insulting me.

"Doesn't she look gorgeous?" Andrea croons from behind me. Mum smiles, but looks slightly apprehensive at my 'new look'; i'm not one to be revealing. "What's the verdict for you, then, Draco?"

Eep. No. Don't put him on the spot. I cross my arms, feeling slightly exposed. He starts to speak and I cringe not wanting to hear, but then...

"Not half bad, Granger. Very nice." My eyes widen at him and he simply smirks again and winks.

The butterflies return from earlier this morning.

Good gracious, how long are we going to play this game of anger, teasing and liking? It's exhausting.


	23. Dreams Are A Wish Your Heart Makes

**_Your kiss is like whiskey,_**  
**_It gets me drunk_**  
**_And I wake up in the morning with the taste of your tongue._**

**- 3OH!3, My First Kiss**

* * *

It seems like Malfoy's been at my house forever.

It's only been - hang on - about 4 hours.  
_That's it_.

It's currently 3:12, and after 2 more embarrassing displays of clothing, we've retreated _alone_ to my room again. It was far too awkward having Andrea fawn all over him. Mum was also being very gauche for it to be appropriate for us to stay down there. She kept asking him all these ridiculous questions about his family life, after we _just_ had that argument about his mother. I could see his face flash with sadness every time another word came out of her mouth. So I dragged him away as soon as I was fully dressed and here we are now.

Now I'm stuck sitting here thinking about his comment about my appearance.

"_Not half bad, Granger. Very nice."_

Was it just said so he appeared not like an asshole? I mean if he really did think I was 'gorgeous', then he'd be speechless or blush or something….right? His breath hitched and his expression changed, that's a good sign right? Is it because he could see my boobs? _Gah._

This whole experience of Malfoy Visits the Ganger Household has been really strange; angry, awkward, sad, _enjoyable_, and….eye-opening to say the least. I probably discovered more about Malfoy in the past 2 hours than I have in the entirety of me knowing him. The only thing that's stayed the same about him is his infuriating ability to make me want ton argue every word he says when he's being just himself.

Yet he also makes me want to grab and hug him at the same time from some of the secrets that have bled from his lips.

His outburst at me was _not_ appreciated. I'm still insulted thoroughly. But then, if he's telling the truth, his family is in tatters. I'd probably be the same towards Ron or Harry if they said the wrong thing at the wrong time when my parents had it rough. I feel bad for him.

And…okay, I know it's ridiculous, but he said we could do _Muse. _  
My choice.

It isn't the fact that we get to research my favourite band, it's the fact that he gave in. Or else, opened his mind enough to want to try something new. Unless he's just scheming, but somehow, I don't think so…

It's just so hard to read him now; I'm usually quite good at that sort of thing. I could see right through his façade when he was younger. He was insecure, arrogant, mean and just intimidating enough he didn't have to make real friends; he put up borders. But now…it's like he can't make up his mind about who to be.

He's been less than kind to me, but at the same time he's no longer cruel and looking for trouble.

He also gave me that womanizing, dessert_-_gobbling look that everyone kept saying he had been giving me. The one I said they were being preposterous and exaggerating about. I mean, his regular smirky expression flew away to shock and then…._that._ Whatever that is; the sexy curved lip thing and eyebrows piqued.

But then, he never really acts as if he likes me otherwise, and if he does like me sexually, then that does not compute. How would that have ever come to pass? Even if he's not as bigoted as he was, he still thinks I'm less than worthy to him status-wise.

He's good-looking to me, but shagging? I was _madly_ in love with Ron and I couldn't picture myself having sex with him. Wasn't ready at all, so how could I ooze any kind of sex appeal?  
_Why am I even thinking about this?_

He just needs to leave. I need to clear my head and find all the books I can so I can start reading them and mark the important pages. Then I'll lend them to him to skim through while I begin to write and formulate ideas.

And he needs to not be lying on my bed with his stupid blonde hair and expensive clothes and-

"So, Granger, what are we doing now exactly?" I look up annoyed from my computer screen, (I'm Googling books about Muse you see) to see him settled against one of my throw pillows at the end of my bed, stomach-down on my sheets and facing me with lazy eyes. I gulp.

"Research. And sit up; you're ruining my bed,"

"'_Ruining my bed', she says…Honestly."_ I hear him mumble and shuffle to sit up. A small smile snakes its way onto my lips.

_No, he's not amusing in the least._

The smile thins to a forced grimace. "Research _how_? I mean, if we're really going to do your Muse band, I haven't even listened to anything by them except that one song."

"Exactly," I say, swiveling my chair round to face him properly. "So that's why you need to get a feel for them." I grab my iPod from my desk, and search the Artists section for Muse. Then I put all the albums on shuffle. "Here." I throw it at him, and he flinches, but manages to catch it.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he asks curiously, my heart jumping as he speaks in french so lovely.

"It's called an iPod…just unwind the cord and put the little buds into your ears. It's a music-playing device." I explain to him how to pause, adjust the volume, and change songs. "Just listen to them. Let it soak into your brain. Remember we actually have to play one of these in front of an audience."

His face recoils into a scowl for an instant, and then he shakes it away. Guess he forgot about that tiny detail.

"Well, here it goes I suppose. What are you going to do then?"

"I'm going to use the internet, trying to find books written about Muse and some useful websites for information. Then review the course pack McGonagall gave us in a bit. I mean, I'm certainly glad that we're doing this band, but it's going to be a lot more difficult to answer these questions, I'm going to have to completely change my perspective on how to approach them, since I thought I'd – that _we'd_ be doing something classical…" I trail off, seeing him smirking. "What?"

"Nothing," he replies, infuriating me once more, and spins the iPod till the chord is loose and shoves the earphones into his respective lobes. He pushes the button and slumps back comfortably, now ignoring me.

The first song was the intro to _Absolution_, and I can hear it faintly now. I swivel around, still peeved, ignoring him right back.

I'm seriously itching to ask him _why _he agreed to do Muse. _Why did he? WHY?_

I seriously doubt he felt bad for blowing up at me; remorse is difficult for him to recognize, I'm sure. So he wouldn't have used my preference as some sort of way to make it up to me. And he didn't protest just now, so it wasn't just a bluff in front of my Mum to avoid telling her what really happened. But that doesn't explain why he wouldn't even consult me first about why he agreed to use them. I mean he didn't even _listen_ to the whole damn song before taking a pee break. _Sigh._

He's the most frustrating person in the entirety of frustrations.

I can now hear tinny guitar silently emitting from my Muggle device. The real songs have started.

Whatever. I face my laptop and start to type.

After a minutes of intense research, I've come to realize there is only _a_ book written about Muse, which I've requested to be shipped into my local bookstore. I hope it doesn't take long. I wish they had it in stock, but biographies, especially when unwritten by an actual band member, are generally not best-sellers.

Well, this won't get me very far. One book? I doubt McGonagall has wireless, so she's only going to be able to reference this, listen to some tunes, and take our word for it for what we say in this project.

Sighing, I reach for my book bag beside my desk and grab onto my Arithmancy textbook, deciding I'll practice just for the sake of practicing. I don't feel like reviewing the outline guide just yet; don't need to give myself a heart attack. Besides, I've been too preoccupied with boys and useless drama lately to actually be able to sit down and have a good old work sesh.

With my favourite scarlet quill, I begin to scratch out some _real_ divination. Good old Bridget Wenlock.

After several peaceful minutes of numbers, I receive an out of the blue interruption.

"I don't like this song, Granger," my guest says from behind me.

I roll my eyes and face Malfoy, signalling him with hand motions to get one earphones out so he can hear me. "Click the button on the right of the dial, to the next one, remember? If you want to restart or go back press the left side. And really, give the songs a chance to play," I say irritated.

_Doesn't like the song. _He _better_ like the songs. He can't just give me my choice and take it away from me, unless _that_ was his big plan. I did agree to let him have his pick first…..why am I such a pushover?

Yes, he _had_ to visit my house. But he's been a totally inconsistent arse, being all witty and actually decent, and then insulting me and yelling at me like I'm his enemy, or Harry or something.

Effing Malfoy.

_{}_

_1) Who is your chosen performer(s)? Include the name, the location, the years he/she/they were active, the period (classical or baroque, for example), and the name(s). Provide a brief description of each of these for you will discuss them further later on._

_2) The time period your chosen performer(s) was a participant in is very relevant to how they are received by their audience. How do the perceptions of musicians in said time period affect the outcome of his/her fame, success and/or relatively underground feel?_

_For example, it was not until the Romantic era that musicians were seen equal to artists, before then they were civil servants, commissioned by people to compose for events; therefore the public view of prestige and general credibility of an artist would be less so before that time._

_3) Who is the target audience for this music; did or does the music appeal to a certain cultural mode or class? Any subcultures: Goblins-Gobbers for the Wizarding World or Punks in the Muggle World as an example._

_4) Does this audience have any stereotype attached to them for listening to such music, and if so, why do you suppose that the composer/artists/band has that stigma attached?_

_Ex/ People in the Muggle world who listen to classical music are generally thought to be 'educated', whereas those who listen to something mainstream are merely passive listeners who follow the bandwagon, though that is not always the case._

_5) Describe in abundant detail the nature and construction of the music; the instruments often used, the textures, is it on the major or minor scale?, the tone, the harmonies, is it simple of complex?, etc. Don't leave anything out!_

_6) What kind of themes or messages are the songs attempting to send? (if lyrics are included you may decipher them, otherwise talk about the sound of the music)_

_IE: Often, musicians would express their emotions, such as displeasure with the government or church, their love for something like nature (note Vivaldi) or nationalism even, through the sounds and instrument they chose to use instead of composing a lyric to it. They did this (in most cases) to disguise any discrepancies with the law should they have a disagreeably stance from the norm, so as to not be blatantly obvious that they were rebelling and avoid jail, heresy, or execution._

_7) If any, what contributions has the composer or artist(s)made to their respective music genre? Clarify what the music genre is and…_

Oh my god. Don't panic. _Do not freak out, Hermione._

I forgot how _long_ this project package was.

Arithmancy was becoming extremely boring; I've been at it for nearly an hour. I studied potions and charms last night before bed and I don't feel like re-reading my history textbook much. So I decided now to scan the instruction sheet. You know, thoroughly peruse it like I normally would. It's proving to rapidly increase my cardiac functions.

There are _so_ many questions! I'm only on the top of page 2….of 5! All of these are designed for people in classical periods like Beethoven and Berlioz, _not_ Muse. I mean, what the devil was I thinking? All the research that we're going to have to find out will be so tedious, and not even worth it because I'm sure that Dean is the only other person in Hogwarts, at least in seventh year, to like them. Everybody won't understand the music, and they'll laugh at me; at us. Malfoy's going to hate me…

_Malfoy!_

I've been so wrapped and absorbed in these books and sheets, I somehow forgot he was here. Normally I'm completely tense 24/7 at his proximity.

Tuning my eardrums to the room's thumps and bumps, the tinny noise is still apparent. I rotate myself around to face him and…he's sleeping.

He's fallen into my pillows, hand still clutching my iPod, legs splayed, and head tilted to the right. It's a bit adorable, actually, except for the fact that he shouldn't be here; in my room, or in this scenario. He looks _innocent_ and tranquil, like a dog after a long run taking a rest.

This also begs the question; did he find the music _that_ boring?

But no, he's smiling slightly, and he looks….happy.

_Why is he so cute?_

It's getting increasingly difficult for me to ignore that I find him attractive. I subconsciously find myself attempting to get him to like me, and that will not do.  
Because I don't need another catastrophe on my hands. Dean is 100X better in the eyes of Ron and Harry, than Draco Malfoy.

_You can't let them control you, _rings something in the back of my mind.  
_Shut it._

He needs to get up; this is a compromising position. If my Dad were to see this….no. Just no. It's one thing for him to be up here when Dad hasn't even met him, but he's lying on my bed. _My _bed.

Where I sleep. Sometimes _naked_!

Okay, that's enough. I stand up and hurriedly rush to his side.

_Hysteria_ is playing. I can hear it; it's right in the middle of the chorus.

"Mal-foy, wake u-uppp!" I sing sweetly, while pushing him lightly. Nothing.

I hope he isn't a deep sleeper, I have no idea how long he's been out for. Here I was thinking he was just following my orders and liking the songs because he wasn't complaining. _Yeah, right._

I recognize after a few more shoves that he probably can't hear me and is more than likely an auditory sleeper. Vocal stimulation probably helps him wake up or fall into slumber better than movement does. After one last hopeless shake I lean over top of him and pull the buds softly from his ears. When he no longer hears the music, immediately he twitches. His eyes are still closed, but if they were open now he'd be looking straight at me.

I can't help studying his face in such proximity.

His complexion is completely clear; no freckles, no pimples, no moles. I really don't know why I always thought he was hideous. I mean even when girls are atrocious or boys are vile, I can still admit that they may be pretty or – _oh my god._

Suddenly his breath hitches, and he turns onto his side. Before I even have time to think about anything, his hands have made their way from the sheets and latched onto my waist. I hear a small moan of _pleasure_ come out of his mouth and then he's pulling me closer and closer to him.

My mind and body are frozen in shock as he inches his face mere centimetres from mine and then touches his lips tenderly to my own. The pit of my stomach decides to backflip a thousand times and my head is dizzy. It's sweet and innocent, and so completely out of character I am at a loss at what to do. So I pull away.

His eyes flutter open at release of the contact.

I was just kissed by Draco Malfoy.

"_Fuck._"

* * *

'Cause I want it now, I want it now, give me your heart and your soul.  
I'm not breaking down, I'm breaking out: last chance to lose control.

"_Draco, get over here."_

_Granger is sitting on her bed in only that white towel, giving me the come-hither motion with her finger, her face coy and sexually enticing._

_Is this real?  
I was just listening to whatever song is playing now, but somehow it's surrounding me without anything in my ears, no connection. Engulfing me whole, overwhelming my senses._

_It's a dream, _I realize. _And it's sexy._

And I want you now, I want you now, I feel my heart implode.  
And I'm breaking out, escaping now, feeling my faith erode.

_I walk as if a zombie over to her, and as I reach her queen-size, she spreads her legs wide, unraveling the cloth covering her secret bits. She smiles in a way that reduces my legs to jelly, and makes my cock do the opposite._

"_Get over here, I said. Do you not want to touch me?"_

"_Of course I do, Granger –"_

"_Ah, ah, ahhh – it's Hermione," she points a finger to my lip, biting the nail tip. "But I'll forgive you just this once; who cares about frivolous things such as names? Get next to me so I can touch you."_

"_Of course, Herrrmione," I purr, relishing the sound that rolls off my tongue. I feel almost dirty saying it._

_Obeying my mistress, I place my knee on the bed touching her left thigh, and dangle the other leg off of it, playing with her warm feet. I stare down at her naked beauty and suppress a shudder of desire._

_Her breasts are smooth and supple looking. I run my hand over one, teasing her nipple by rubbing it between two fingers. She wiggles and groans with pleasure and I can feel myself getting extremely hard. While I switch tits, I trace my fingertips along her torso, past her bellybutton to her lovely clit. I _so_ long to touch that. As I'm about to feel it though, she grabs my wrists, slams me backwards and pins me to the mattress._

"_Not yet." Dominance is fucking delicious. "You have to earn that privilege. I want you to hold me tight and make me want you. Kiss me."_

_Being the gentleman I pretend to be, I oblige by placing my hands on her slim waist, giving a growl at the softness of her skin. Then with as much effort I can muster I pull her as tenderly as I can towards me and grace her with a kiss. It's spectacular to me, but she doesn't respond._

_The music ends._

_..._

Granger is hovering over me, completely nonplussed. She's breathing heavily. And when I come to my senses and realize my hands are lingering on her sides, I know immediately what I've done.  
I've snogged her. In my _sleep._

"_Fuck!"_

I only hope that's the only thing from my dream I did to her…

My heart is beating extremely fast at my mistake, and I can feel my cock still throbbing from what should have been a wet dream. Fortunately, she's not on top of me, so my trouser monster isn't anywhere near her.

I finally decide to do something so I fussily sit up straight, separating myself from her bubble, but not being able to tear my eyes away from hers. Her beautiful brown eyes.

I wonder if she really looks like that naked…Fuck, _no_!

_You don't wish any of those things, you need to leave before you pull her back onto the mattress and suck her face until you can't feel your lips anymore._

I avert my gaze harshly, to avoid my urge to ravage her, and fumble with her bed sheets, waiting for her to back away so I can get up properly. This was _not_ supposed to happen.

Especially not after the events of today. I yelled at her. I fell apart at the seams. When her mother asked us why we were fighting, arguing about the band to research was a natural choice for me to say, but saying we picked Muse just sort of slipped out. Maybe it was a subconscious combination of me wanting her not to hate me, and saving my skin from her wrath later, but seriously.

What was I thinking? Why did I dream _that?_ I thought she was being a total cunt not an hour ago. Or maybe more than an hour ago. What time is it? Fuck, she must've been waking me up, and I just had that fantasy.

Just because she has a nice body doesn't warrant me giving her a smooch. That's romance, not lust.

Oh who the hell cares? I just canoodled with the enemy, or my old enemy. Whatever she is. And now we stand here, stoned into silence at my fuckery.

_Say something._

_What the hell could I _possibly_ say?_

_Anything at this point._

I swing my legs off the side of the bed that she isn't on.

"I- I think maybe we should venture back downstairs," is what I finally manage to mutter.

"Downstairs?" she gulps.

"Yes." I get up and straighten my clothes for no apparent reason, trying to figure out what to do with myself, while hiding my thankfully shrinking boner.

"O-okay," she says, and when I sneak a glance at her, she's blushing madly, not repulsed or angry. "What are we going to do down there?"

No idea. "I don't know…maybe we should just call it a day."

"That's fine," she says, looking at the floor. After a moment she asks, "Would you um, like to borrow the iPod?"

"Uhm," I scrunch my face, taken back at the odd question. After all, I just kissed her because of that stupid brain-stimulating song. "Sure?"

She gingerly grabs her device off the bed and tosses it at me. As I catch it, I fumble with it wanting a distraction.

"When would you like to meet again?" _Never_. Never again.

I just kissed a _Mudblood._ And it felt good.  
More than good. I wanted to do it again.

It felt….never mind.

"Up to you."

"Sunday?" _Far too soon._

"That's fine. Same time?"

"Fine."

This smattering of conversation is so formal. I want to know how she's feeling.

But I'm too much a coward to find out.  
I feel like I should at least apologise or something. But for the kiss? Would that be offensive?

I walk to her door and turn back to face her. After about a few seconds, I look her in the eyes. Somehow I can do that now, when before I was scared. I dig deep and swallow my pride. "I'm sorry Granger. For yelling at you, and getting a bit...crazy."

I hope it sounds like I meant it.

She stares at me like I'm a test question again.

"I don't understand you at all," she says. She says it inquisitively. She says it and I realize I agree.

"Neither do I," I reply. She raises an eyebrow, looks down at the ground quickly and back up to me, in the divine way that women do. A smile, albeit a small one, slips onto her lips.

"Shall we?" I motion my hand to the door, and I hold it open for her. She gives me a bewildered thank you and walks on through.

_Why am I being nice to her?_ I told myself I wouldn't be. When I am nice to her, she responds back in the same manner; she hasn't a horrible bone in her body. She, unlike me, is polite when it's earned.

But then, girls you dream about and accidentally kiss clearly aren't girls who _deserve_ to be treated badly.

We walk down to the front hall in silence. I look out behind the curtains and the rain has stopped.

_Lovely._

Bending slightly to get on my shoes, I speak to her for the last time. "I guess I'll see you later, Granger? What should I do for the project to prepare? Do I need to reread our textbook a thousand times? Examine song lyrics until my brain is fuzzy?"

"No," she blushes once more. "Just listen to the music. Oh!" she suddenly trills and I jump at the high pitched noise.

"It runs on battery."

Battery? "What?"

"The iPod. It runs on battery, not magic. If it says 'low battery', basically if it gets to 20%, just tap it with your wand and say_ Refoveo_ : it will recharge it." I feel the device in my pocket and am about to reply, feeling as if I should write the incantation down when a voice slithers in from the other room.

"And what are you two talking about alone in the hallway?" It's Granger's cousin, who keeps attempting to make me compliment or notice Granger for whatever reason. Seriously, bringing over a sexy dress? I already know she's good looking and smart, she _doesn't _have to remind me…

"Oh, are you leaving?" she asks me, exaggerating a frown on her face.

"Yes, I think we've done all we can for today," _In more ways than one._

The frown deepens.

"That's a shame, I think Helen was going to invite you to supper." Huh? "Helen love, your dinner guest appears to be taking off early!" she calls into the depths of the kitchen.

"_What! No!"_ Helen, Mrs. Granger, stalks into the room, eyes wide. "Oh, please don't leave, I know my husband _so_ wanted to meet you. We're leaving you see, tomorrow, and since you'll be coming here -"

"Mum, _please,_ don't make him feel guilty. He has to leave, so –"

Suddenly a door slams shut from the outside and all four of us shoot our heads to the source of the noise. A large blue car has pulled into the drive, and a larger man with a neat moustache and round hat is strolling towards the porch.

"Oh, look, there he is now! He was on a fishing trip with his chums, you see, that's why he wasn't here this morning."

_Fishing?_

I stand shock still for some reason. Oh no, I'm _scared._  
What is he _possibly_ going to think of me? Who the hell fishes? That's for poor people and house elves to do, is that considered fun in Muggleland?

I glance at Granger and her eyes are as wide as mine. Good sign, that is.

Oh fuck, he's reached the front mat.  
_Killlll meeeeeee._

I back away from the door as it creaks open. The stench of cod fills my nostrils and I try not to gag. I've always disliked meat of the pescetarian variety.

Fortunately for me, he barrels past, huffing with a pipe in his mouth straight through to the living room.

"Love! You're back home early," Helen says too happily at her husband.

"The fish were just not having it!" He yells from behind a wall. "And after 5 fucking dreary hours of rain and sitting in a rocky boat we called it a day." Mr. Granger stomps back into the front hall, his hat now gone, but his pipe now lit. The fishy smells are now mingling with tobacco. Disgusting.

He gives his wife a surprisingly gentle peck on the lips, and upon noticing Andrea gives a little squeal of recognition. "Good to see you, love!" he says, and Andrea simply laughs as if his moodiness is characteristic while hugging him.

But of course, that's where Granger gets it. Her menstruation-like rages, that is. Up and down in a snap; I feel like I'm learning too much about this girl.

Good, he hasn't seen me yet. Just keep chatting, come on just -

"Darrell, ahem, remember what we were talking about yesterday?"

"Hmm?"

"About Hermione's guest." Oh fuck, oh shit.

He turns towards me finally and scrunches his face, which turns out to be somewhat handsome. Granger's got good genes, apparently.

I've never been faced with this situation exactly, making a good first impression. I mean, when I met Pansy's parents, they already knew mine. Back when I had a bad (which is good in Slytherin terms) reputation, they loved me, haggled me actually, to someday wed their precious daughter. Clearly, this is not the case here.

I decide to put on my Malfoy face, with less arrogance, and hold out my hand.

"Nice to meet you sir. I'm Draco Malfoy."

He just continues to scrutinize my appearance. My hand is hanging in the air, the balance if you like being dramatic.

I probably look like everything he hates; pretentious upperclassman right here. Tailored pants and jacket, excellent hair cut; fussy, fussy, fuss. I'm guessing he is a man's man, something I've never been, and don't plan on being. I'm too independent for that. If I don't fish or er, do what Muggle men do, I'm worthless to him.

Finally, after what seems like hours of embarrassment, Helen saves me by nudging him forward for being so tactless.

"Darrell Granger," he says, gripping my hand firmly, and probably shaking it for a bit longer than normal. "You're my daughter's school partner?"

I nod, placing my hand to my side, still nervous, but trying to hold my own.

"You must be aware that we're leaving tomorrow night?" Another nod. "All I must say is that if you do anything to my Hermione to upset or disrespect her while we're gone, I'll –"

"Dad!" "DARRELL!" The Granger women both cry in unison. Andrea looks conflicted between amusement and awkwardness. Like a spectator to a couple's public fighting.

I kind of want to slink into a hole in the ground somewhere. I kissed his Hermione without meaning to about 10 minutes ago.

"Sir," he grimaces when I say it, almost disappointed that I didn't dare try using either of his names. "I promise you I-"

"Son, I've heard it all before. I'm a boy after all. I understand what a pretty girl can do to even the most responsible of men, especially one as smart and kind as my Hermione." I hear Granger groan beside me, and I almost want to smirk. She's lucky at least that he cares so much; my parent's would never say something like that about me.

"Just watch out. I'm keeping as close an eye as I can on her."

"I will," I say, and stare straight into his eyes, faltering when my grey dull ones meet the same rich brown as the Mudblood I know. Fuck, I'll never win anything if he shares those peepers with her.

"In any case, I think I should be going now…I feel as if I'm interrupting a happy reunion," I chuckle, attempting to keep the humour in my voice, but the malice out (with difficulty). God, this is the worst day ever to pick a meet for. If she were ever to visit I'd make sure nobody would come barging in.

"I'll walk you out," Granger says, far too sweetly, and I finish tying up my last lace.

"It was pleasant meeting you all," I force, trying to smile. I mean, her mother isn't that bad, but her dad is a buzzkill, and her cousin too loud and eager for me.

"Goodbye, Draco. Have a nice evening," Helen says smiling. Andrea wiggles her fingers at me and winks, causing me to flush, and rendering me speechless because what do you say to that really? What does that mean?

I open the front door, giving a final curt wave, and let Granger out first. This action causing her mother to give a small approving tick, and her father rolling his eyes.

Granger slams the door shut as soon as I step out into the afternoon sun, and heaves a sigh. I sigh too, feeling relieved somehow.

"God, I'm sorry about that. My dad is….well you saw him."

I've never seen her quite so flustered.

"It's alright. It just means he cares, doesn't it?" She looks slightly taken aback, but shakes her head slowly.

"Well, bye then," she says, holding up her hand shyly in a sort of salute.

"See you, Granger. Er, thanks for the iPod I guess. I won't break it."

"I know you won't. And you're welcome. I want you to be capable of doing our project." I smirk; typical. "I guess, uh, I'll see you?" She finishes it as a question, hinting at something, waiting to see if I'll say anything else.

I don't think I'm going to tell her what I was dreaming about, or explain why I kissed her. At least, not yet.

"Bye."

I snake my hand down into my pocket and clutch my wand. With a quick glance around my shoulder, I turn to face her one last time before I disapparate back to my empty home.

I feel the tubes enclose around me, and I wrack my brain to think about where I'm going, because a slip up will not be tolerated again.

_Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor, please, please, please, please._

_Crunch_

I've landed outside my gate, my beautiful familiar gate. This time thankfully on my feet. The hedges are intimidating to some, but to me, they're home. I saunter along the gravel to my huge black wrought-iron entry, but as I step to go past them, I smack my face into the metal. _Ow!_

My nose is bleeding.

But more importantly, I can't get through.

_Excusez-moi?_  
Okay, maybe just a fluke.

I retrieve my wand, and rub my sore nose. Holding it up in the air, pacing back a few steps, I begin to walk towards the gate. But again, I can't get through.

What the hell?

This is _not_ good. Not good at all!

Thinking frantically I suddenly remember: Peoni!

"_Peoni!"_ I summon.

She has to come, she's a house-elf. She'll let me in; she can can't she?

But after 2 long minutes of wind and birds singing, nothing.

NOTHING.

"PEONI!"

I'm going to kill that damn elf.

How can I be locked out of my own home? Mother's in bloody Cannes! I won't be able to get in for another week. And I need access to an owl in order to reach her.

Where the hell am I going to go?


	24. Hoodoo

**_Well if there was a problem I can't solve, I'd just forget about._****  
_I've always had everything I've ever wanted, and never doubted._  
_That I'd not only have my cake and eat it too,_  
_But lately something tells me I've been fooled_  
_But I'll bet you'll forget about me._  
- _Selective Memory,_ We Are Scientists**

* * *

The breeze is swishing lightly, making my hair dance across my forehead. I push my fringe away from my eyes for about the fifth time. It's quite annoying.

I've been sitting on the hard rocky ground for nearly an hour against the hedges, mindlessly staring into the afternoon sky, and listening to the device Granger gave me. I haven't figured out how to master it yet, so I left it on Muse considering I should do what she told me and 'let it soak in'. So far they're a hit and a miss to me. In some songs their lyrics lack lustre while the music is intricate and pleasant, yet others are deep but with a simple melody. Either way, their songs are vastly different from one another; I find myself enjoying them. Which is saying something because I'm rather picky.

I think it's strange that wizards don't have something like this, a portable music machine. I mean, using a muffliato charm always works when I'm in my room so my parents aren't bothered by the symphonies from my record player, but I can't _always_ hide in my room. Right now it feels like the notes and song are inside of my head rather than around me; it's almost eerie.  
But I like it.

And it helps me avoid thinking about where I'm going to try to go.

I'm _not_ going back to Granger's. I can't bring myself to even consider that as a choice after what happened.

I don't know where Nott lives, so I can't Apparate there. As if I'd _want_ to check up on him and Millicent probably making babies and being generally nauseated by the experience.  
I'm at a loss.

But right now, it seems I'm not as bothered about where to go than about how I feel about liking this 'i-pod' . My father _always _told me that Muggles were dependant on their technology. "They lapse into a state where they become mindless slaves, consuming whatever the 'media' , corporations and famous people tell them to." Sickeningly attached to inanimate objects, he said; but wands 'aren't the same'. We _control _our magic: they control what they buy, but not what can be used on the items they bought, or who gets the rightly deserved money.

I don't know, though. These seem useful enough to me, but perhaps that's part of the appeal. I don't know how you actually _get_ music onto this thing, or how much it costs. Or who made it for that matter. Everything I've ever bought has been handmade by one person or another.

And actually, now that I think about it, I think i've seen these things before. One night when father, Dolohov and I were on a mission made to retrieve a blood traitor and bring them to Voldemort last year, we almost were seen by a Muggle woman who was jogging. She was holding this little black device and had the buds in her ears. She didn't hear or see us. We could've easily killed her, no fuss no muss. No witnesses and no screams. She didn't even think it was dangerous.

In a world like ours used to be, that's an idiotic thing to possess. But then again, it's so pleasant, the constant stream of music at your fingertips.

I'm fighting an inner battle.

After what Granger told me, about my mother….about what she did for me and for Potter, I have a hard time even trusting one word that came out of my father's mouth. He loved me, I know he did; but I think my mother loves me more and always has. And now I find myself trying to decide what side I'm really on, now that I have the choice, and furthermore, _are_ there even sides? Is there a dark and a light? I'm sure there are nut-jobs who still want to continue Lord Voldemort's reign. And certainly more who still hate Mudbloods. But I'm not one of them anymore.

After talking to mother, even she didn't seem to know what was right last time I spoke to her.

Oh Merlin, I hope I never have to enlighten her on what occurred in Granger's bedroom. Honestly. Even if she has had a small change of heart, she still looks down her nose at Muggles and in turn Mudbloods. I'd also get caught lying. She thinks I'm at Millicent's; _fuck I forgot that._

I feel a sense of impending doom on the horizon. My story is _going_ to fall through when she either comes back to let me inside the house_, if _she comes back and lets me inside the house, or when she sees me acting suspiciously flustered. Secrets are hard to hide; this is _why_ I never used to feel any weight on my shoulders. I didn't give a shit what I let out.

In sixth year I nearly died from the constant stress of not bawling out of frustration or being able to confide in anyone but a stupid ghost about how I felt doing all of these terrible, disgusting things to save my own skin. Mother is also, well, my mother. She knows when something is wrong with me, she has the instinct.

And these recent feelings that are revolving so silently around in my head and my stomach can't be ignored for much longer. The happy feelings.

I like Granger.  
Her eyes, smile, breasts, legs, hair even…everything.  
And I know I don't know her true personality very well, but what I do know attracts me. She's smart, witty, can play, can hold her own, and at the same time she's nice. She's been nice to _me._

I've never admired people who were 'nice' before, but I've learned in the past few years that kindness will always lead you to greater things than power ever could. Look at Potter, for example, that nitwit. Everyone loves him because he's 'uncommonly kind'. He never wanted to be the person he is, but he was made for the job without any question, he _is_ a born leader. When I tried to be the leader, I made few friends and lots of enemies. By listening to every word that comes from a person who's supposed to love you, you get lost in them.

I don't like confrontation. I never have.

I also hate following orders, which makes no sense considering I was a Death Eater. Considering I wanted to be just like my father…considering I was meant to be violent but chickened out at every opportunity to prove my worth. Considering my soul didn't want me to be like this, as lamely poetic as that sounds.

Hating people for what they are rather than _who _they are is no good, I've decided. Now, that doesn't mean I don't think that appearances and reputation aren't important; that's what the whole damn world runs on. But I think that I'm a little willing to shuck some of my beliefs out the window for some new ones. And you know, I guess I already have. I mean I went to Muggle London, for fucks sake. 3 years ago the mere thought would've made me rage and gag at the prospect of filth; filth I know now doesn't exist. They live just like us, Muggles. I see no difference except for the tools we use. Both prosper in their own way, and neither is perfect.

I suppose it's really time to take a chance at my life. I feel strange; uplifted, different. Revelations have been cast upon me.

I look down at Granger's possession, liking a song I've never heard come on. _Hoodoo._

_Come into my life, regress into a dream  
We will hide, build a new reality  
Draw another picture, of the life you could have had  
Follow your instincts, and choose the other path._

Yes, that's exactly what I'll do, isn't it? Build a new reality…One where everyone can see how much I've changed. I'm sick of this hatred.

But first, I must battle the task at hand.  
I may feel rejuvenated but I still have my tail between my legs. I can't go back to Granger's. I just…._can't_.

A possibility of where I could go just pops unannounced into my head, and it's a preposterous idea, insane.

I stand up and hesitantly walk away from my safe haven under a low hanging branch. I pull out the headphones from my ears, put the device in my pocket and whip out my wand.

The chance of success of what I'm going to try doing is slim at best. But, I have to know if the possibility is an option on the table. So I can rule it out or wave it in once and for all.

I close my eyes and focus where I want to go, picturing my destination in my mind. Then I feel the tight squeeze around me and I'm gone.

* * *

I'm at a loss.

Draco Malfoy _kissed_ me.  
And you know what?…It felt _nice._ I can't even imagine what it would've been like if he had been conscious.

Was he dreaming about kissing _me_?

I don't think so.  
I don't know if I _want_ him to think so.

You see, I still don't know if he likes me properly or not.

Not even romantically, but in a friendly way. Maybe he likes the way I look in a dress or tight pants, but that doesn't mean he thinks of me as anything but a piece of meat. I've found a lot of people 'attractive' who were completely vile, and I simply shook away the thought of ever wanting to do anything with them.

Yet Malfoy apologized to me, and he came here to see me when it was clear he opposed the idea. I know I shouldn't forgive him or praise things so easily, when I normally wouldn't, being so stubborn. But this is a Slytherin bully who's hated me for 7 years we're talking about. This is a boy who agreed to research _my_ favourite band and came to my house, and was pleasant to my _mother. _My Muggle mother.

An apology from him is like a hug from the bloody Queen.

And a kiss from him, _well, that_ was lovely.  
It troubles me deeply.

When I was with Ron for those few months, the times before we were 'official' and during, my favourite thing to do was snog him. It's really uncharacteristic of me to most, but I'm quite romantic behind closed doors. I like physical contact as much as the next person.

I thought that _nobody_ could rival Ron's smooches; Viktor had given me similar swoops in the stomach with his lips, but that's because he was my first kiss I'm sure.

With Ron, I felt all the stupid girly things that my friends tell me a kiss feels like, when believed it utter nonsense before. I suddenly understood why girls made it out to be like some religious experience; our kisses were satisfying and loving, and they were the _best._  
But the one thing I never seemed to get upon kissing my lovely redhead was any type of lust. I _cared_ about Ron, I loved Ron; I _still_ love Ron. Don't get me wrong about that.

But we've been friends for _so_ long. He wasn't some mysterious entity like Viktor was. Viktor admired my intelligence and I suppose I admired his looks and charm, so it was all purely chemical; new. I could've fantasized about him, and I'll admit I did once or twice, because I didn't know him top to toe, inside out. I could let myself imagine what he was _really_ like.

Ron is different. I _do_ know him inside out, I understand how he works. I know what he's really like. But I _did_ know there was still more to find out, more to explore. So the kisses were amazing, but anything past that was really off limits to me because it was too much too soon. I wanted to comfort his deepest insecurities, and for him to explain them everything to me rather than lock himself in a box. I wanted a deeper connection than he let me get at. I _needed_ him to open up to me before I did anything sexual, because I knew that sleeping with him wouldn't feel right until I knew every minute detail, things even Harry didn't know.

Friends are hard to fuck.

Otherwise, it would've felt like sleeping with a family member. If that happened, obviously the relationship would be destroyed. And the last thing I wanted was for our relationship to go down south. I guess that's why I freaked out when it happened and why it ended so harshly that summer night.

It's a memory burned at the back of my mind….

{}

"Mmmm, Hermione," Ron whispers into my neck as he nibbles it delicately. His breath makes me shiver and his bite gives me a little dart of pleasure. We're on his bed, me lying on top of him, my legs in between his, and both our shirts have been discarded. Skin on bare skin feels satisfying, especially when he wraps his arms around me tightly.

I'm not as apprehensive as I normally am; I have no worries of getting caught at the moment. Harry and Ginny are probably off experiencing similar things as we in her room one floor down. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have gone to Shell Cottage for the evening, to visit Fleur and Bill with little Teddy. Fleur is expecting you see and –

"_Ah_!" I give a little squeak as Ron agilely unclasps the fastenings and pulls my bra off. He presses his rough hands on me, feeling my naked breasts. He groans appreciatively at the contact of the flesh and the sound my voice made. This is the farthest I've gone with him: with anyone. As he kneads and grabs and pinches, he leans up to my lips and kisses me anything but politely.

It's like a need. Like my mouth is his only sustenance.

I have to say that while I was reluctant at first for him to even go near my boobs, let alone take my top off, I'm enjoying it. My nipples are sensitive to the feel of hasty fingers groping them, but when he slows it down it turns me on. It's a scary daunting prospect, thinking about sex.

He informed me earlier he wants to, I quote, "explore the depth that is you until I know you inside out." That's probably the most romantic thing I've ever heard, yet it doesn't hold as much loveliness as it should. This is exactly the same idea I was discussing with him earlier this week, but this isn't what I had in mind.

And it's getting incredibly serious now; Ron is _extremely_ hard, and I'm wearing a skirt.

I thought 'exploring' me meant emotional exploration too, he knows that's what I want...But he's been trying for weeks to get me in here alone. He was jubilant when he found out about his parents departure.

I think he needs to learn the subtle art of restraint at such things, like Harry. I know he and Ginny have done things, but how far, I'm not too sure. Molly and Arthur asked George to 'babysit' us, because of Ron's obvious intentions, but he fell asleep on the couch an hour ago, having indulged a bit too much on the Weasley liquor cabinet.

I know _I'm_ not ready for Ron and I to lead past this, past snogging and touching. I know he is, but I just need him to respect this decision. It isn't as if I don't _want _do all these fantastic things, I'm just not comfortable quite yet. I don't know what I would possibly do faced with his nether regions if his pants became unzipped.

But I'm reading far too into this, I want to embrace the moment. I want to enjoy this too.

I stop thinking so much and hold his hands still over my breasts. He's making them a bit sore with all this intense tugging, but I'm not about to insult him by telling him that. I'll show him how I want it. I pull away from his devouring tongue and stare at him straight in his blue eyes for a moment. A _long_ moment.

"Mione what's wrong?" he asks concerned, looking up and down my face. "Are you o–"

Trying to be alluring, I cut him off by leaning down, clutching his head by his fiery hair and kissing him deeply and slowly. He moans appreciatively, then grabs my hair, tangling his hands in it. So I continue.

I want the passion to build. I want him to feel the love I have for him. I'm not sure if i'm ready for anything else; it's too weird, too foreign, too soon. We haven't said those three little words yet. I don't even know if we need to. It's implied to me, yet I'd love to hear it aloud. But maybe they'll slip out of his mouth tonight. It would be perfect.

I haven't gotten my parents back yet; Professor McGonagall told me continental apparition is dangerous at best, so I'm waiting for Kingsley or someone strong to take me to Australia. It's been nearly 2 months of agony, but I spent an entire school year without them, I know I'll hang in there a little more. That's why I'm staying here for the moment.

It's good to be around Harry and Ron all the time when we're happy and carefree, but I would _so_ like Ron to meet my parents before we do anything drastic like this. Constantly being in his company allows him to push for more. Mum knows, well will remember once I modify her memory back, that I like him. In all honesty, it's only been a few weeks of being official. God, it took him a month of snogging and late nights for him to finally ask me out properly, even though he constantly referred to me as his girlfriend. I asked him but he said he wanted to be the gentleman, _sigh_.

Okay, _shut up Hermione._

Kiss your boyfriend.

I return my fifty-track mind to Ron, and deepen the kiss once again. Now he's running his hands all over me, still tangling his fingers in my hair, then smoothly down my back, across my bum and back up again. It feels amazing.

So very good; he finally understands that I want the tender intense pecks instead of fast sloppy ones. I venture my hands away from his head and down to his shoulders, wrapping my arms around his neck.

I let slip a groan of delight as he caresses my scalp with nimble fingers, causing shocks of electricity to flow through me. He pulls away, then opens his eyes, staring hungrily into my own. He smiles a wicked grin then slides his hands down to my thighs. He pulls my legs open so I'm straddling his waist and leaves his palms on my skin. The bulge is now pressed against me; I feel myself getting hot around my lower half, and I try to wiggle away from Ron's firm grip on my legs.

However, he takes this as a _wrong_ signal, and begins to buck under me, moving his groin rhythmically against my panties. I stop our now-continued make out session from the surprise and pull my head up, my arms still wrapped around him. He doesn't seem to notice, his eyes are closed with a smile on his face.

He looks so adorable.

_No, no, no._ He needs to _stop._

I know my body wants it, it's responding to it. But my mind has always been stronger; I can't let it keep slipping because of his effect on me. This doesn't feel right.

"_R-Ron I-"_

"_Hermione," _he murmurs. It's so delicate the way it rolls of his tongue that I almost regret stopping him. His hands roam from my legs to my back again and he wraps them around me in my favourite way. _No._

He widens his eyes suddenly and stares intently up and down my face and body. I inhale deeply and hold the air in my lungs. This is it. I know it. He's going to say it.

"Hermione?"

"Y-yes Ron?" My heart is at a standstill.

"I…"

He pauses and I can feel the oxygen slowly leaving me. _Say it, just say it!_

"_Yes?"_

"_I need to unzip my pants_."

And just like that, my heart fizzles into disappointment.

Should _I_ just say it? Why am I so afraid?

A small voice in the back of my head is spurring me on. There isn't a rulebook on love that dictates the boy has to be first. I guess I just feel vulnerable putting my heart on the line. I get off of him, choosing to sit beside him cross-legged. I need to know.

Ron fumbles with his belt, and after having opened it, he unzips his fly and is lying there huffing, his erection extremely evident now. He turns onto his side and grabs my hand, squeezing it.

"You really are the best person, you know?" He leans in and gives me a long sweet kiss. I smile despite myself.

"I am, huh?" I giggle.

"Mmhmm," he laughs, and in one swift motion, he pulls me by the elbow and pushes me against his pillows. It's _his_ turn to be dominant. He kicks off his pants, leaving him in just boxers and lays over me in the push up position.

Lowering himself onto me, he eases a hand to my tights, and starts tugging at them to pull them down my leg.

I tense my body.

"Ron, wait." I grab his wrist with my hand and he stops and looks up at me.

"_Yeah?" _he asks me worried. My expression is less than happy, I can feel the frown etched there.

"Ron….Ron, do you love me?"

His face twists into surprise, but he says not a thing. Silence fills the room, it's a solid minute now; which speaks more volumes than any words ever could.

I move my hand away from his, feeling exposed.

"Of course I do, 'Mione, you know that," he says a little too late, reaching for my hand again.

"I suppose I know…but you never say it. I know actions are supposed to be better than words, but I want you to say 'I love you' to me once in a while."

"Well you've never said it to me," he says confused, kneeling while I sit up to face him properly. Oh god, now he thinks I'm needy.

"I _know_, but I was waiting. I was a bit….scared that maybe you didn't love me as much. You know it's been that way since sixth year…." I trail, not mentioning any _flowery_ details.

"Merlin, Hermione, just because you kissed me first doesn't mean I regret this relationship happening at all!" he says slightly angrily. "Obviously not with the position we're in now. And if you told me you loved me, maybe I'd be more inclined to say it back; don't you think I could have been worried too?"

"Worried how? That I wouldn't return it?"

"No! But it's hard saying it first, Harry agrees. Took him ages to tell Ginny."

"So? That doesn't mean it has to be the same for us!"

"I guess not, but-"

"_I love you_, Ron Weasley."

The words tumble from my mouth, and immediately I wish I could eat them back up. It isn't that I don't mean them; it's that I shouldn't have said them so quickly after he accused me of not saying them either.

His ears turn red, and he's frowning, struggling at what to say.

"You too, 'Mione."

My lungs drop into my stomach.

"Can we talk about this later, though? Please?" He gives me the puppy dog eyes but I'm not swayed. I simply say nothing and lay back down, irritated.

He returns to my tights, and for a moment I don't care, but suddenly I don't want to kiss him. I don't want him to touch me there.

He still hasn't said it. 'You too' doesn't count.  
Anger wells up inside of me.

I _heard_ him say 'I love you' to Lavender. I don't want to be petty, but it's unfair. He didn't even love her, and she gets the satisfaction anyways.

And suddenly, my black hose are off, and I'm left in my short summer skirt and thin underwear. He's sliding his hand up my leg, and my ears are buzzing and my blood is boiling so I push him away from me hard. Blank shock appears on his face.

"What's the matter?"

"Just….stop, please_."_

"Stop? But 'Mione, I thought – "

"I know what you thought!" I explode, feeling overly exposed and vulnerable. "How can you immediately go back to fondling me like I'm some, _object,_ after I've just told you I love you! ? You didn't even say it back!" A tear forms at the side of my eye but I don't dare wipe it away and let him know it's there in the near darkness.

"An _object,_ Hermione? You think I want to have sex with you because you're an _object to me! ?"_ God, he sounds so angry. He _looks_ so angry. But I don't give a damn.

"_Sex?_ Were we _planning_ on having sex? You didn't really run that little detail by me," I hiss.

"W-what? You mean you don't want to?"

"_Want to_? The question isn't if I _want_ to. Ron, you haven't even met my parents! We haven't even done anything besides kiss! I'm a little uncomfortable at just going at it in a snap. Surely we need to do more before _that._"

"Well no, we don't. It's not _required."_

What the hell is he even _saying?_ He says it with such conviction but its crap, utterly _crap!_

"Well maybe I want to be familiar with your _penis_ before I stick it just anywhere," I spit venomously.

He blushes a deeper crimson, unsure of what to say. "Well, we weren't _not_ going to have some foreplay or anything…"

"Ron, do you even know what you're _doing_ in that department? Because I certainly don't! I need time to test it out. And I don't want to just _have sex_ when I'm clearly not ready and neither are you."

I cross my arms defiantly. I expect him with a retort ready on his lips. Only, he looks at me for a mere second and then looks away, embarrassed.

_No, that's not right._

He should be arguing with me for doubting his abilities.

"What?" My turn to ask.

He looks at me with horrified eyes, a guilty look.

"_What?"_

"I-I"

"Yes? Spit it out." I glare at him and finally -

"I'm not a virgin, Hermione."

And in one swift minute, the world crashes down over my brain, giving me a splitting headache and a numb feeling. My stomach churns at the very thought of him and _her,_ getting randy someplace.

"_Where?"_

"Um."

"_When?"_

"L-Lavender and I found an empty classroom in year six, o-obviously, and um, we did it in there during dinner…" he squeaks.

This does not compute.

"_How many times?"_ It comes out as a whisper.

"Maybe…10," he says huskily. "Not too many..."_10? Not too many?_

"Were you ever going to tell me this?"

"Well I didn't want to trouble you with it…."

"Ron! You need to tell me this kind of thing. I trust you; you have to be honest to earn _that_. And sex isn't a simple matter. And having it right _now_? You need be checked out, in fact we both should, just to know we're completely healthy before we –"

"Oh so you think I'm dirty now just because I fucked another girl do you? Just because she wasn't some, some – _prude,_ like you!"

Immediately he covers his mouth like he's said something foul. To me, it's as if he slapped me in the face. I take a deep breath.

"Just because I'm careful and thoughtful about these things, and maybe a little apprehensive, does _not_ mean I'm a prude, Ronald Weasley." He flinches at my anguish-filled tone and the usage of his full name.

"I know, I know…I didn't mean –"

"Of course you meant it like that! Maybe you _don't_ love me then, do you? Maybe you _thought_ you did and changed your mind? Maybe sex was a sure way of telling whether you felt something or not. After all, you told _Lavender_ you loved her, probably before you shagged her, but you won't give the same decency to me, your _current_ girlfriend." I snap. His turn to be bitch-slapped.

"I didn't know what love was back then, okay? She let me kiss her and touch her, it was puppy love! Of course I was going to tell her I loved her, I thought I_ did._ How could you even think of comparing this to her? What we have is a lot more meaningful to me! What we have is real love! "

"THEN ACT LIKE IT!" I scream. "Tell me that you love me! SAY It." He looks nonplussed and I don't enjoy making him squirm, I want him to suffer until he can admit how he really feels about me.

"I-I…"

"Why can't you do it? Is it because I'm your friend first? You can't get past that, can you?"

He shakes his head, but I see right through it. I swing my legs off the bed, and get up. I search for my clothes. Of course I only see his shirt lying on the ground, and not mine or my bra.

"Can you get past it? !" He asks it more like a question rather than an affront, like that thought never occurred to him.

"I don't know! I'm trying, I really am! I love you a lot. But maybe if you talked to me once in a while, it _would _work! It still feels like were friends! I don't just want to be friends with benefits, Ron. I don't want to have sex with my friend! I want to have sex when I'm ready, with the boyfriend I _love. _One who differs from the boy I used to know. I need a new perspective of you."

I decide to just grab his shirt off the ground and toss it over me, not caring about breast support because I just want to cover up. I turn to him and he's half naked on the bed, and scowling.

"What are you doing?" he asks slowly as I stand in the same spot.

"Going to find Ginny."

"And why would you do that?"

"So I can talk to her about her stupid older brother and his apparent commitment problems with me."

"We don't have intimacy problems! And don't you _dare_ go to Ginny!"

"Or what? And lies, we obviously do if we're arguing! If I don't see her, I'm just going to go talking to George or Harry anyhow.."

"NO!" He shouts, getting off the bed too, livid. He stands up and starts heaving; in the small room it takes few steps to get to me.

"Don't you _dare _threaten me with my family members!"

"I'm not threatening you! You're the one who lied about having sex, won't say 'I love you' to me, yet you claim you absolutely love me more than your ex-girlfriend! And then you call me a prude because I won't _fuck_ you after a month? I want to know you like _you_ know you Ron! I don't want to be lied to."

He looks shocked at my uncommon vulgarity. But I don't care. I'm being honest, unlike him.

"How dare you? You didn't say you _loved_ me until tonight either, Hermione! And you know how I get when I'm ANGRY! I'm fucking _frustrated_, do you know how long I've wanted to have sex with you! ? How amazing I think that would be? There, that's something you can know about me that only _I_ know!"

"What! ? Is that why we're going out, for you to get your sexual fix? !"

"NO. YOU KNOW THAT'S NOT IT! Why are you being so goddamn difficult! ?"

"I'm confused! What do you want, Ron? I've loved you for 4 years and now that I finally have you it isn't as spectacular as I thought it would be. Nothing is different except for kisses, which are great, really great, but I need more. I need more emotional simulation! So what do you want from me? What do you _need?_"

"Oh, of course. So things aren't looking up to your standards, are they? Just because I want to have sex, a normal thing for 18 year olds to do with their girlfriends, and other things, that means it's too much to handle for you? You're out of your element and you feel scared so the world has to stop for you just because for once you're the ignorant one. For once _I_'m the savvy one and it kills you, doesn't it?"

"_Ron!_ How – how can you -? No! It isn't because you have more experience, it just didn't feel right, and –"

"It NEVER DOES, Hermione and you know why! ? Because you're high fucking maintenance! I'm not perfect and I NEVER will be! EVER. You strive on everything being so fucking perfect all the time that you don't even think about my needs! I know you like the back of my hand, I don't want to sit around talking about crap that we have our whole lives to talk about! I love you, happy? I LOVE YOU. Is it in your head yet? I just never say that to people, not even my parents. When I actually mean it, it's that much harder to tell you so. Lavender said it so quickly to me that it took me by surprise."

His face is such a deep crimson, I'm afraid to interrupt him.

"R-Ron. I'm sorry, I just –"

"You just what? WHAT? I've been trying to change for _you,_ but you never seem to notice that, or seem to care! All you do is complain that it's too much, or too soon, or too fast! It's not as if you don't know me! I'm not a stranger, don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do Ron, it's just that –"

"That what? I'm not attractive enough, right? You miss your ickle Vicky don't you? Bet you'd rather be touching his six pack and running your fingers through his brown hair rather than my -"

I slap him across the cheek. He did _not_ just go there. He looks ready to kill me but I don't give him a chance.

"How _dare you? _What I was _going_, to say Ron? Was that your need for sex made me feel like you wanted my body rather than my soul. That you wanted to satisfy your craving. I know you care for me, but if you respected me as you've shown me before, you'd wait, you'd _ask_ to see if I was ready. And yelling 'I love you' to me isn't exactly what I had in _mind._"

He's raging now. "Of course it isn't! I think you should just get the hell out of my room and out of my life if I'm not good enough for you. Don't talk about respect when you just HIT ME IN MY ROOM!"

"_Well, how dare you bring up Viktor?"_

"_How dare you bring up LAVENDER?"_

"You had sex with her! You didn't tell me that! And you expected that of me tonight, but you wouldn't share that lovely previous information?"

"_JUST SHUT UP, SHUT THE HELL UP!"_ The tears are relentless as they streak my face with wet. I can't take this agony.

"Don't talk to me like that! I'm leaving!" I push open the door, and am about to step out but he yanks me back by the shirt sleeve.

"What are you doing, let go Ron!"

"No, I want my shirt back. Give me back my shirt!"

"_Ron,_ I can't find mine, just please. I'll give it to you in the morning and-"

"NO. You don't get to wear it. Take it off!" He grabs at the fabric and pulls at it so hard, that the jersey long sleeve starts to rip.

"Stop it! STOP!"

"_Hermione? What's wrong? Are you ok?"_ A groggy voice from Ginny is heard from the hallway staircase.

With one last swift tug, he pulls it off me in one big move, and it splits right in half, leaving me topless in view of the corridor.

"No!" I wail, crying, helpless, almost nude. I jump back into the room, behind the door.

"Everything's just fine Ginny, you go back to Harry!' Ron warns.

"Ron? Why are you so angry; what did you do!" I hear footsteps and I don't know where to move. Ron grips my forearm, not allowing me freedom, and pulls me back near the bed. He's trying to steady his breathing.

"_Ron, let go."_

"_No. Look, I exploded I –"_

"_It's_ t_oo late."_ I wrench my arm from his grip and cover my exposed chest.

5 seconds later, a swish of red mane appears at my side and then immediately I hear the sound of fist on skin.

Ron recoils from the attack and I'm free. My sobs grow louder as Ginny drapes her sweater on me when I fall to my knees.

She puts her arm around me and helps me up again. "Let's go to my room, Hermione…."

Ron seems to have come to his senses and stands up quickly. "Hermione! Hermione, look, please, Hermione-" I turn to face him and he shuts up. Ginny looks murderous.

"Save it. I can't deal with this. If you get this angry all the time...this jealous…I don't want our friendship and relationship to deteriorate further than it has tonight. Ron, we're…we're done. We need to salvage what's left of this, as friends. I'm sorry."

His now downtrodden face makes me cry all over again. I walk with her out of his room for probably the last time.

{}

The memory makes me want to vomit.

My frustration towards Ron resurfaces, but so does my desire for closeness.

I _miss_ him. I miss cuddling. I miss kisses. His special 'Hermione' smile.

But you know what?

I don't want that.

It would be so easy to go back. Back to that relationship. I know this time he'd be that much more careful and that much more attentive. But I don't even want to have sex with him, which really was the only thing we're missing from what we had and potentially could have now. Intimacy, emotionally and physically is what we missed.

Kissing was enough for me then, and now when I compare sensations...They're the same as a certain blonde boy.

When Malfoy kissed me, I felt that familiar sensation of flying over the moon, and he only kissed me for a millisecond; it was like a shockwave. A chemical thing. I kind of wanted to touch him, but it felt forbidden, not allowed. And I'm generally one to follow rules.

So now I'm confused.

So very, very confused.

His personality is still lacking, and I need to know about what he was thinking before he woke up, or it'll drive me insane for the rest of my life. I want him to do something to redeem himself besides apologizing, because that only goes so far. I want him to be better than Ron. I have to face facts; I want him to be good so I can let myself fall into his allure. I _want_ to have a good reason to be attracted to him.

It's like with Ron. I need to understand him before...before I do something I'll regret. The desire is definitely there, but is that it? It seems Malfoy holds the desire that was missing with Ron.

If only I could talk to someone. Harry is obviously out of the question. Mum is very rational and understanding of behaviour, but can't keep quiet, and Dad would have a fit if she told him a thing. Ginny is out of bounds right now because of her bias towards Harry and her past experiences with him. I feel like nobody would understand…

"Oh, dear cousin, what bee has flown into your bonnet?" Andrea's smiling face appears in my vision, and I realize that I've been sitting absent-mindedly with my teacup in my armchair for more than a few minutes.

_Of course._ Andrea.

"I – I'm troubled. A bit. I'll be okay, though."

"Does this 'troubled' have to do with a gorgeous tall boy with platinum hair and a nice wardrobe?" She winks at me and sits on the arm of my chair.

"Yes," I sigh, deciding not to lie. "And Ron."

"Ooh, Ron? That boy you liked? Is it a love triangle? Tell me all the dirty details!" I smile weakly at her, and place my tea on the coffee table.

"You really want to know?"

"'Course! I'm here to listen."

"Can we go for a walk? It may take a while," I laugh meekly. "I also don't really want mum to hear everything."

She giggles excitedly. "Yes, yes, yes! Where'd you want to go?"

"To Lenora's Bakery," I say automatically. I want to go at some point and I could use a pick me up cupcake.

"All right, you can show me the way. Let me get my purse and I'll tell your Mom, don't worry I'll leave the part out about us boy discussing. I know she's want in on it." She winks at me and saunters into the kitchen.

I stand up stretching and murmur a thanks, then go walk to the front room to grab my coat. I can't believe I'm going to do this.

_Where am I even going to begin?_

* * *

I stand in front of the Parkinson estate in Somerset, pondering why the hell I decided to come here at all.

But I need to know if she's here, Pansy, or if she's moved on forever. I slowly meander up to the gated doors, and clutch the bars of the fence, looking into the great black house. A huge stone wall surrounds everything but the entrance. I haven't been here in months upon months.

The lawn looks manicured, and there's a light on. The flowers are staring to bud, and I can see faint movement and shadow in the picture window to their parlour.

_What the fuck?_

"State your purpose." I nearly jump out of my skin at a mysterious, distant voice, but comply with its wishes.

"I-I'm here to see Pansy."

Almost a minute passes by.

"State your name."

"Draco Malfoy." I reply, narrowing my eyes slightly at this strange and mysterious addition to security.

Another minute.

"The lady has allowed you entry. Hold out your wand, Draco Malfoy."

"…..Where?"

"Up here, fool."

I look up and a great grey gargoyle that is perched on the side of the wall is looking at me as if animated. I feign confidence and hesitantly take out my wand, pointing it to the statue. In one quick movement it grabs the wand with its mouth and gobbles it up, horrifying me.

_"Hey!"_

The gate swings open.

"You may proceed, Draco Malfoy. Visitors must be unarmed and prove their Wizarding status to enter the Parkinson household. They may return it to you inside, or when you depart."

"_It wasn't so security filled last time I was here,_" I mumble.

"Desperate times called for desperate measures," it states stonily.

I guess it's right.

But quite frankly, I'm feeling a little insane. I'm visiting my ex-whatever to _stay the night._

This is not going to go well.


	25. Reunion

_**Where's my girl? Where has she gone?**_  
_**She once was beautiful and Innocent**_  
_**I can't believe in what she says**_  
_**I looked at her and she looked the other way**_

_**Disconnected, From feeling alright.**_  
_**Disconnected, And it ain't black and white.**_

**- Disconnected, Rancid**

* * *

"What are you _doing_ here, Draco?"

Those are the first 'welcoming' words that come out of Pansy Parkinson's mouth as I walk up her cobblestone drive. She's hanging out of her wooden front door, a flabbergasted expression upon her face, looking unusually ravishing. Of all the places I could've gone, I don't know _why _I chose here.

Okay, so I do know why. I came here so Pansy can lavish her affection upon me like she always does, to remind me why wanting to be with purebloods is so much better than being in filthy Mudblood company.

I want, no need, to _stop_ thinking about Granger in a way that is unnatural. For fucks sake, I don't know how I am supposed to last 2 weeks being in her presence when her cousin keeps dressing her in slutty clothing and she keeps managing to be a decent person towards me. Pursuing her would cause madness and panic from all the friends and family that know her and think they know who _I_ am.

Not to mention my mother would disown me. Next time I see her, I'm going to be nothing but rude and that's that. No more kissing business allowed, no matter how much I..._liked_ it.

I mean, I _do_ genuinely think that perhaps I could try to be a better person than I have been in the past, but for the greater good, not just one selected girl. It'll look good on me, my family, and er, potential employers I suppose. I'm not just thinking about building new realities just for her…  
_I'm not._

I shake the thought from my head and continue walking. As I near Pansy's figure in the doorway I see her long black hair curling around down to her breasts; she's wearing a silky purple housecoat that fits her small frame perfectly.

I've heard people compare her looks to a pug (behind her back), but I've personally never seen it. I've always thought she was rather good looking if I'm honest. Perhaps if she was fat she'd look like one, since she has large, dark eyes and her nose is upturned slightly. But I doubt dogs often have mouths that are squished into a permanent haughty frown.

Okay, enough pondering, say something. She's your only ticket to shelter unless you want to go back _there._

"I came to see _you_, Pansy," I smirk stupidly as I stop in front of her steps. I feel awkward about what to say, rubbing the back of my head with my hand nervously. She clearly isn't happy to see me.

She's towering over me, gazing scrutinizingly at my appearance which is unusually, uncharacteristically, Muggle.

"It's been nearly a year since we've seen each other, since we've _spoken _Draco, and out of the blue you just decide to show up at my front gate?" she asks perplexed with a hint of irritation.

"Did you forget that I wrote to you several times with no avail? No small reply at all, not one owl," I retort bitterly.

"I must not have gotten them," she refutes, looking anywhere but my eyes, playing with her hair. _Yeah, right._

I thought that maybe Pansy would be happy to see me…  
I suppose that after a year of no contact and effort made by the other party, I should've gotten the hint she wants nothing to do with me. Though, I'll admit that I'm arrogant enough to have brushed that thought aside before I came here.

Fuck what I assumed, I just need somewhere to _go._ I thought she'd still have a soft spot for me, that she would feel a rush of affection at my sudden appearance and try and come at me all romantic-like. But she doesn't care anymore, clearly.

Hmph. "Oh _really_? You 'must not have gotten them'? The owl mail service just suddenly forgot to visit the Parkinson household?" She flinches at my tone. I'm a lot angrier than I originally realized. She was my girlfriend after all, we never broke up we just sort of 'fell apart'.

"Pansy, I thought you'd left England! I thought everybody had, from what I've been hearing in the news. I haven't received any word from either you, Goyle or Blaise since the battle. I understand that we never were friends, exactly, but certainly allies."

"Allies? From our escapades, I thought we were more than _that_, Draco," she says smirking and narrowing her eyes. I return her coy smirk; I can't help it. That's exactly the sort of thing I would've responded with. Something that catches you off-guard.

"Okay, well maybe _we _were more than that, but I thought I was the only one left from the 'original' Slytherin house at school. There's just Millicent and Nott, who is _incredibly_ irksome and –"

"_School?_ You went _back_ to Hogwarts_! ?"_ Her eyes are bulging unattractively out of her sockets. Why is she so surprised?

"Well, yes." I reply to her dim outcry. "Didn't _you_ receive a letter?"

"Of _course_ I did, but mum and father said…well…I – I just didn't think it would be necessary. I knew we'd be mocked and taunted horrendously, not that I care or anything….but I certainly didn't think _you'd_ go back, given your reputation. Wouldn't it cut in your quality time of alcohol consumption and sleeping?" she asks bitingly.

Merlin, everyone who is rich is the same. Dictated by our wealthy parents. Her mother told her she wasn't to go, and she didn't.

And taking a stab at my _drinking_? You tell one girl something in confidence and she uses it against you…

Ugh, how did I ever put up with her?

"I didn't really fancy sitting at home anymore. And it's not like father can tell me what to do…. Not like anything bad is out there anymore. Seriously, everyone else is deliriously happy now that the world's gone 'right'. It's irritating."

"Well, that's exactly it. Blaise didn't go back because of that very reason; everyone would be rude to us while they drink Butterbeer's all day long. He's also under the assumption he's too good for Hogwarts anymore…but neither of us had Death Eater parents, so it makes less sense that you two idiots went. It's just safer at home. No worries. No responsibilities. Aren't they positively eating you alive all by yourself? I mean Nott was never particularly vicious to people when you were the _worst_."

"Obviously they are," I state frustrated. "But I figured everyone was going back; I thought that the Slytherin families wouldn't want to look like we'd given up, that we'd been 'beaten' so to speak. Not all the Slytherins were bad in the first place anyways, as you said. And in any case, the prejudice was _supposed_ to be over…."

"Prejudice never ends, Draco. Don't you understand?" She cuts me off, huffing with an edge in her voice and eyes that stop me in my tracks. "They've always have hated us, so we'll always hate them. It goes much deeper than blood; they judge us before they know us. Our parents told us to judge too, but we do simply because everyone treats us like we're scum. Perhaps if they didn't, we wouldn't either. Slytherin _always_ gets the bad rap, even if the other impure riff raff mess up too. I mean, my parent's managed to stay out of the whole Death Eater thing, just leaning a bit towards the greater of the two evils. And people still hated me." _Yeah, but you're an outspoken bitch, Pansy._

I want her to stop talking these ugly truths, but she looks as frustrated as me, so I let her continue. "We're told as kids to stay with the kids dressed in green and silver, and you know, we don't really dare defy our parents' wishes, well, because that's all we know. And everyone else is told to integrate, to talk to everyone but steer clear of the kids in green because their families are bad people. It's a vicious circle, surely you've realized that by now? You know very well how difficult it is to trust people given our stereotypes. We have to stay guarded due to the fear of letting anyone truly inside our minds. Even after all this war rubbish, I'm still too scared to talk to people who aren't pureblood or rich…And you know? I don't even really care anymore if they're Mudbloods or elves. I just want to be happy."

She looks down and fiddles with the sapphire bracelet on her wrist, contemplating what she just told me, and more than likely if it was too much. I'm a little in awe at her words. Not just about how very true they are, but because they don't sound much like something the Pansy Parkinson I knew would say.

"Draco," she stops and I gaze at her expectantly through narrowed eyes . "What do you _really_ want? I'm quite busy you see, today is important."

"And what's so special about today?"

She blushes slightly, but stands her ground. "Nothing that would interest you," she sniffs. "What do you want? I know you didn't come to see _me_, you usually have the decency to discuss a meeting time in advance…actually, it was me that used to always ask you to come over, not the other way round. Tonight I have a prior engagement unfortunately, so if you've come for a playdate, I must insist that we do it another time," she says arrogantly. _Fuck. Me._

Dread rips through my veins at the prospects I have left. If I can't stay here, I have 4 options.

1) Go find Nott and crash at his place; I don't know where he lives. _Unlikely._

2) Go visit Goyle and Blaise like I've just done to Pansy and have an awkward reunion ending in me begging for a place to sleep, wherein they'll both laugh at the misfortune of my current state. _Even more unlikely._

3) Sleep outside.

_Errr…No._

4) Go back to Granger's and explain what happened. And face her the same day I kissed her. _Fuck._

My head is going to explode.

I take a deep breath.

"I'm locked out of my house." It sounds so childish when I say it aloud.

"What? _Locked out_?" she says confused. 'Wh -_How?"_

I sigh again, not wanting to go into details. But how can I avoid them, really? She's admittedly probably the person I've been the closest to in my entire life, so I suppose I have no choice.

God, that's pathetic.

I try to figure out what to tell her and what to keep locked away at rapid speed. Oh fuck it, here it goes.

"It's a long story. A real shitshow if you want the truth. My dear mother has decided that she no longer is interested in my father," I begin. "So she's been sneaking around behind everyone's back and humping a Frenchman." Pansy's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

"She's getting _married_ to him," I say it with such venom that I surprise myself. "She went to stupid Cannes to meet his parents this morning. She didn't even bother to tell me about this affair until 5 days ago, when I walked in on them _fornicating,_ and when I threatened to tell father, she informed me that apparently he already knows. Needless to say, I'm not exactly ecstatic about the whole arrangement. It's disgusting. Father rots in Azkaban, while my Mother gets it on with somebody else…." I shake my head. "Anyways, that's far more than you need to know. The point is _I'm alone_. Today, I was….well I was out, so when I returned I couldn't get in for some reason, and my house elf wouldn't be summoned. I'm going to take a stab and guess mother, its '_real_ 'master, ordered it to assist her or perhaps guard the manor. So if there's any way I could stay here tonight….that would be greatly appreciated," I finish exhaling.

I look at her and immediately I know i've said too much. _Far_ too much.  
Her expression says it all already: 'I have juicy gossip on the Malfoys.'

_It was such a mistake coming here._

She stands there shocked, a near half smile lingering on her lips. The door is fully open now and her hand is still absent-mindedly hanging as if she was still holding it. She blinks a few times then straightens up.

"Let me get this straight. Narcissa Malfoy has been cheating on Lucius Malfoy, the richest Wizard in Britain? While he's in _Azkaban?_ And she never told you _anything_ about her fiancé? Oh Merlin, that _is _interesting." At my scowl, she adds, "And terrible for you of course. I'm so sorry. I was going to say that..." She retracts her mouth into a frown 'sympathetically', turns her head suddenly inside like she heard a noise, and then back to me.

"I - honestly don't _know_ if I can let you inside, Draco," she says simply. "Even if I wanted to."

"And why is that, exactly?" I ask confused. She used to _beg_ me to come see her and now she won't give me the time of day?

Pansy checks back into her house again and then beckons me with her hand to come closer, paranoia evidently getting the best of her. I oblige somewhat reluctantly and walk up on her front step, pushing Granger's iPod further into my pocket as I go, praying to Merlin she never sees it. When I get right next to her she leans in to whisper to me, cupping a hand delicately to my left ear.

"_Ever since the end of this school year last, my parents have been rattling on about how they need to get in the 'good books' of the public eye if they ever want to be in the social elite again. In order to do so, they want me to cut out every bad influence, and….that includes, _you," she says bluntly. "_Your father is extremely scandalous, especially after what you've just told me. And we all know how pathetic his Death Eater performance was in the last year, as was yours, er, no offense,_" she adds as if that will make me not feel as if I was punched in the balls. She retracts from me and stands up, her point made clear.

"And then your family was in the news about 'switching sides'; everyone who was ever involved with dark business got quite cross because you were lying about it, again. Right?"  
I crumple my features, unsure of what to say.

Half of the thrill of knowing me during the time of the war (for Pansy) was being able to latch onto security, riches, and notoriety (in a good way) if the Dark Lord ever came to power. I also am pretty damn good-looking if I do say so myself. But that's not what I'm trying to get at.

Obviously now that dream of being on top is ruined; not just because Voldemort's dead, but because of how much of a wimp I am. The riches don't matter in the public view if my family is 'bad'.

But the Malfoy's don't work with the idea of 'sides' and never have. We latch onto the most profitable security. When Voldemort was in power that's where we decided to go because if he succeeded in his quest, we'd live a longer life. Not to mention, we'd be more praised because of our blood status. If a few people had to be spared, so be it. When he was 'defeated' the first time we had to pretend to be innocent or else my father would've been locked up in Azkaban and have been forced to leave my mother with myself as an infant. Now that I think about it, maybe that would've been a better outcome.

So switching sides? I don't really know if we ever were on one, the way my father acted in this past war, and in thew few months before I saw him barred up. He just wanted power and was truly a coward within.  
But me? I don't know. I am a coward, but was I simply scared? Or deep down did I want to secretly change the odds for Potter so he could overcome? I only talked the talk because I thought my family was big stuff; important. But it was pounded into me after my father`s continuous fails that we were disposable like everyone else. The Ministry turned their back and Voldemort tortured us. It was all a big game of using people for what they could; that's what life is, isn't it? When you boil it down.

I don't really feel like lying to Pansy anymore. Maybe I should tell her how I feel…. I won't ever impress or please her again it seems anyhow.

Which is sad because she used to plead with me to let her put my cock between her lips... Too much info, I know.

I miss those carefree days.

I shake my head, returning to reality. "No. Switching sides isn't how you would phrase the Malfoy situation. My mother never wanted to be a Death Eater, and father…well let's just say he lost interest long before they found out what Potter had been up to last year."

She raises an eyebrow. "And _you?_ You think you've changed? Don't make me laugh, Draco. I figured you disliked the violent aspect of being a Death Eater after sixth year, and didn't want to kill anyone, but you can't possibly stand there and tell me you don't feel the same way about everything else, like Mudbloods and image. It was all that seemed to matter to you."

_Ha_, if only she knew what happened today….  
I silently smirk, almost wanting to tell her. That would certainly send her off her rocket.

"_Oh uh, by the way, I kissed Hermione Granger while lying on her bed."_

"Anyways," she continues without paying my expression any attention, "my parents told me to cut off all relationships with you, and, of course I didn't _want_ to." _Lying bitch._ "But seeing as I wasn't going to school and you had all that trial stuff going on, it wasn't difficult not bothering you."

She regains her normal standing position, with perfect carriage and grace, brushing invisible dust specs off her bathrobe. I don't really know how to respond to that.

"I see," is what I reply coldly after a minute. I can't believe I used to relate to anything of what she's saying to me. It's as if I'm conversing with a different species. It feels like my eyes have been thrust open to how _I_ was for the very first time in my life. She seems more mature, yes, but now she reminds me so much of myself that I want to vomit.

Pansy observes me when I don't respond and gives me the onceover, properly. Her contemptuous glare softens a little bit as she reaches my eyes. I return her gaze with a harder look and open my mouth about to tell her that it was a mistake coming here, but I'm interrupted by a snooty, older voice.

"Pansy darling, who is at the door? Step aside now, pip pip, - ohhhhhh, it's _you,_" Paisley Parkinson peers through the doorway, staring up at me through her horn-rimmed glasses, looking as if she's smelled some shit.

"Always lovely to see you, Mrs. Parkinson," I say forcefully. She's garbed in a sleeveless tight grey robe that tapers at her unattractively thin waist.

"And what would _you_ like, Mister Malfoy?" she asks, emphasizing 'you' so I know I'm not welcome. She's now blocking Pansy from my view. A little more than a year ago this woman dragged me alone into her study and begged me to propose to her daughter at some point in my near future, to 'merge two great families together'. _Ha._

"Nothing at all, just stopping by to chat with your daughter. Haven't seen her in a good while," I reply frostily. "But I think I'll be going now." Swivelling around to leave, I'm defiant even though I have no idea where I'm headed next when my old flame surprises me.

"Draco, wait!" I stop at the sincerity in her voice. "Mum, _please_. Draco was just telling me about his parent's divorce."_WHAT!_ I whip back around, balling my fists with a snarl, shooting her daggers. She ignores me." He's been locked out of his home because of it, and is quite flustered about it. He was only seeking some, um, _guidance_ on the situation. The least we can do is help, yes?"

Inside I'm seething, _how dare she tell someone about something so personal without permission?_ But at the look of vain curiosity from Mrs. Parkinson, I know she's going to invite me into the house just to squeeze all the juice she can muster out of me. She's the most gossipy woman I've ever spoken to; it's a trait Pansy inherited.

"Of course, of course," she says thinking. "Some…er, _guidance_. Very well, you may come in…Draco." She shoots me a curious glare, then click-clacks her heels back inside. Pansy and I regretfully follow suit.

Wait. Hold the fort…._why is Pansy wearing _heels?

I don't have time to think about it however because as we make our way through the darkened hallway into the parlour, I'm bombarded with questions.

"So what happened to cause your parent's to end the marriage, Draco? Did someone cheat? Is somebody getting remarried? Your father didn't die in Azkaban did he? No of course not, it would've been in the papers…If he had, she moved on quickly…..Why were you out and about by yourself? And why can't you get back in? Stupid house elves probably."

God, she's a cow.

I answer most of the questions as politely as possible, and every time I give something away, her eyes widen like saucers. I recite to her exactly what I told Pansy, leaving out the part about where I've been today. As we near the fireplace, Paisley beckons me to sit down on a sofa next to her daughter, evidently forgetting who I am and our past relationship. Nosiness will do that to people, apparently.

She recounts what I just told her in a scandalised voice. "So Narcissa Malfoy _cheated?_ How outrageous! And now she's arranging a _wedding_ while her husband is in jail? Immoral! Who again did you say she was marrying? Did you meet him?"

Pansy shoots me a slightly apologetic look, embarrassed by the uncouthness of her parent. I just roll my eyes and continue being interrogated. "She's marrying some dent named Jean-Pierre…Du Pont I believe? Extremely French, man doesn't even speak English. I met him only briefly." Ugh, the first time I met my future step-father, he was nude and thrusting into my _mother_. I shake the nasty image out of my head, and look up at my host.

Silence has finally been cast upon my inquisitor. I turn to face her, wondering why the questions have stopped. She's immobile, a shocked look on her pale face, her wine glass ceremoniously clutched in the air as if waiting to be cheers'd.

"Mum…?" Pansy asks, leaning in to shake her arm. But Paisley just sits there, with that same dumbfounded expression.

"Jean-Pierre Du Pont, of the _Cannes_ Du Pont's?" she casually addresses at last. I raise one eyebrow confused. How could _she_ possibly know him?

"Um, I believe so. She did say she was going to Cannes, my mother. May I ask why?"

A small jubilant smile slowly forms on her lips. "Oh, no reason at all, just wondering. I've read about the Du Pont's in French wizard magazines before. Sounds like he's an upstanding man." Pansy and I exchange looks of confusion, but she just shrugs, having no idea what her mother is rattling on about. Her response to my question was believable enough, but rushed; a cover up.

"Pansy dear, would you join me in the other room for a moment? We need to discuss arrangements for our guest." Masked excitement is laced into her voice. I arrived here as scum and now I'm an equal again? Something is definitely fishy here. She's up to something.

Pansy scrunches her eyebrows in puzzlement, but never the one to disobey her mum, she gets up and saunters out of the room behind Paisley.

I suppose I'm just sitting here awkwardly then. Lovely. The snooping section of my brain is itching to try and hear what they're saying, but I'm not really sure if I _want_ to know.

Who the hell am I kidding, of course I want to know.

I tune my ear into the silence and I catch a word here and there from the two ladies in the hallway.

"…_.get on the good side…."  
"…but you said last week that…"  
"…never mind that, you should…."  
"But what about tonight?"  
"Sigh….well,….."_

They seem to have walked further away from the door.

I slump back into my seat and rest my elbow on the arm of the couch, propping my chin in my hand. I drum my hands on my cheek as they reconvene in here, Pansy looking confused and walking over next to me, Paisley looking suspiciously happy.

"Well, Draco, I know you really require a bed, so you may stay here tonight," Paisley says to me, smiling like a kid at Christmas. "And for as long as you need."

"Er, that's very kind of you." I reply, now thoroughly creeped out. She's acting as if she hadn't just met me with malice at her front door. Two faced bitch.

"I know," she grins. Immediately, it deflates slightly; "Unfortunately, Pansy, my husband & I have a prior engagement tonight, which we must attend to in little less than a half hours' time. I would invite you to come along, but if you are dressed in, erm, _that, _it would be inappropriate. Also it may be rude to invite you without any notice. What exactly would you be interested in doing to pass the time?"

She's such a charming woman, isn't she?

"Honestly, I'm rather tired." I admit truthfully. "I could just go to sleep. I need an owl first however, if I am allowed to borrow one; I need to contact my mother in France so I can get back into the manor."

I just want to sleep. And maybe a nice brandy.

"We have a spare owl you may use. And sleeping you won't bother anyone or anything. Don't need you gallivanting around the house, you may uh, _break_ something ha ha…" she laughs dryly, trailing off. _Yes, because I'm _so_ poor that I'm going to resort to stealing teapots and paintings from you and rampaging about the estate._

"I can show you to the guest room, I believe that we have spare set of nightclothes up there, and we keep the birds up there. Pansy, you should –"

"Mother, Draco will stay in _my_ room. Much more comfortable than the guest room. I'll show him up and make sure he delivers his letter." _Huh?_

"Pansy, I _do not_ think this is a –" Paisley starts, glaring at her only child.

"Well I _do_. Remember what you said in the other room, _Mum_." She huffs cutting in, grabbing onto my arm. She gives me a meaningful look, then one of her trademark wicked smiles.

Paisley looks infuriated but trying to mask it. She balls her fists and struggles for a moment but tapes back on her grin. "Of course, _darling._ Well hurry up then. We need to leave soon."

And with that she stomps off towards the staircase. I raise an eyebrow and look up at Pansy, who beckons me to stand up.

I do so, and she hooks a finger under my chin. "Follow me, Draco." She winks at me then slides her hand slowly from under my face, swishing around dramatically.

Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?

I decide to obey her and follow her sashaying self out of the room and to the same staircase her mother just graced. My eyes automatically focus on her hips swaying up the steps. I examine those heels. She's wearing tall purple stilettos that make her legs look miles long. And her ass nice and firm. She really does have an amazing figure, it's no wonder I couldn't help –

Fuck, _no_.

I can't be thinking about her that way after what happened only 2 hours ago. With Granger.

Holy fuckbuckets, _Granger._ I almost forgot about her amidst this confusion. The whole idea that I find her attractive, intelligent, moreover _tolerable_, is _insane._

Absolutely mental. How can I like her, and then all of a sudden be turned on by Pansy?

_Well this is a good thing, isn't it?, _my brain interrupts. _This is proof that the attraction you felt with Hermione may have just been simply carnal. Hormonal. You just want to fuck. Pansy is at the complete opposite of the spectrum than your Mudblood friend._

My mind is convinced, but my stomach feels uneasy. That doesn`t explain her comments amusing me, and….myself being nice in return. I mean, I picked her fucking Muggle band. I listened to her Muggle device and convinced myself to be different about certain aspects of my life 2 hours ago because of one fucking song.

"You're welcome, by the way, for me letting you stay in my bed tonight." Pansy interrupts my thoughts again. "The guest rooms are just awful, we obviously don't get company much. If you need anything just summon any elf, they'll make you food or direct you to anywhere you need to go. God, Mum is so paranoid. "_Oh, you might break something_!" she imitates in a perfect impression. "Anyways, I suppose I can just grab you an owl from their keep down the hall and - Draco? Anything wrong? You look lost in the clouds," she giggles. I realize I've been staring at her butt in a daze of confusion and thought this entire time. I switch up my gaze from her ass to her face and she's looking a bit coy. "Or perhaps transfixed," she smiles.

I feel myself blush pink, but plaster on the smirk. Can't let her win.

"Don't flatter yourself, Parkinson."

"Oh, don't deny you were staring. It's been a year; you missed me, Draco. I know I look good." We've reached an oak door with '_Pansy'_ and ornate flowers carved into the frame. She pushes it open with a swift tap of her wand and walks in.

"How do you know I didn't see anyone else?" I ask a bit peeved, entering her domain for the first time.

It's just like I thought; vomitatious pink. Her walls, ceiling, carpet, bedspread, and curtains are the putrid shade. Ugh.

I'm surprised she doesn't get a seizure or vertigo from waking up in this every morning.

"Oh, please. Who would've wanted you?" _Ouch. _"I mean, no offense, but you don't have a very redeeming reputation at the moment. And I know lots of Slytherins didn't come back to Hogwarts, or even home."

She never fails to be petulant. It's amusing usually, but she's insulting _me_ this time.

"Well, you don't need to be so nasty about it. Didn't you miss me?" I ask, cocking a brow, and leaning to one side.

She sniffs. "Maybe."

"_Maybe?_ As I recall, you were hanging off every orifice of myself not a year ago. Found someone else then, someone more holier than mine?"

"That doesn't make any sense," she says shaking her head, blushing furiously. Hmm, so she has, hasn't she?

"Perhaps it doesn't, but just because you didn't love _me_, doesn't mean you didn't love my cock." Her eyebrows shoot up at my vulgar usage, but she gives me a defiant look.

"I don't know what you mean. And how would _you_ know if I didn't actually love you? _Rude_. I'm getting the owl, you write your letter now." She hastily plucks a box of quills and parchment from a drawer in her desk, shoves it into my arms and exits the room.

I take a seat in her chair, smiling at the fact I got her so riled up. Smoothing out the darkened parchment I scrawl a quick letter to mother, trying not to sound too pissed off. Trying being the key word here.

_Mother,_

_It appears I've been denied access to enter the manor. I can't get through the gate enchantments. This is extremely frustrating, so if you could somehow get back here or fix it, it would be greatly appreciated. Don't worry about me, I'm at Pansy's at the moment, though the welcome of my presence I haven't figured out yet._

_Draco_

As an afterthought I add,

_PS: I hope the preparations are going well._

I read it over once and shrug, hoping she feels guilty because I mention the wedding and I'm stuck here in limbo. She never liked the Parkinson's.

A hoot from behind me makes me jump and I turn to see Pansy with an average sized black owl. I hastily fold the letter and scribble 'Narcissa Malfoy' on the front so she can't read it. She pushes the bird into my hands. I set it onto the wood, and then grab a piece of twine that rests in the box with spare parchment, tying my note onto its complying leg.

Pansy opens the shutters so it can fly out. After it takes off I stare at it soaring upwards until it's a little dot in the distant sunset.

"Well, that was interesting," Pansy says sarcastically cutting into the silence from watching the bird. "I'm going to finish getting ready, if you don't mind."

I nod, turning around to go sit down carefully on the edge of her bed. Pansy turns around to her large vanity table, and sits on the hot pink stool. She starts rummaging through her jewellery, finding a suitable necklace and earrings.

"Where are you going, anyways?" I ask. She ignores me, and places dangly diamond earrings into her lobes.

"Oh come on, I'm not going to judge you. I've done this all before too. Is it some stupid dinner party with a bunch of 'important people' so your parents can make themselves still feel relevant?"

Nothing.

"You're wearing 3 inch heels and a ton of makeup, it must be something special. Will there be sexy entertainment?"

Pansy finishes clasping her matching diamond necklace onto her neck and tilts her head to give me a menacing glare.

"I'm going to change into my dress and cloak, turn around," she commands as she stands up, pulling her hair out and shaking it neatly from under her silver chain. This order surprises me.

"I've seen you in your knickers before, Pansy. I've seen you _naked_," I laugh.

"Yes, but then we were seeing each other, weren't we? Now it's different." She put her hands on her hips and sways her head to the side.

"Tell me where you're going and I will."

"Why do you care so damn much?" she hisses, throwing a stuffed dragon from her dresser at me.

I dodge the fuzzy entity as it lands on a pillow and smirk. "Because you don't want to tell me."

She sighs dramatically and then rolls her eyes. "I'm going to dinner with the Zabini's. _Happy_? Now turn around."

I feel my face go slack as I spin my legs to face the headboard. I try not to say anything as questions arise like a flood in my head. I recall Granger telling Potter on the train about seeing Blaise waiting at the platform to see if anybody from Slytherin was coming, and then promptly left. The Zabini's and Parkinson's were _never_ friends. Mrs. Zabini is too 'prominent' to ever hang out with people like Pansy's parents because they weren't powerful, just rich; not famous for any reason.

I hear rustling of fabric.

"That's….odd" I choose to say. "Why?"

Another sigh. "Do you really want to know?"

She sounds so irritated and _exhausted_.

"Well, _yes_. I honestly have no idea what's going on with everyone these days." I reply, absentmindedly tossing her dragon up and down in my hands. "As you said, I haven't been very popular in the Slytherin world."

"Very well…you can look now." I swivel around and – wow.

She actually looks _good._ She's wearing an elaborate plum purple gown with a corset bodice and voluminous skirt made of gauzy material.

She looks apprehensive as I gaze at her. Then casually she asks;  
"Would you mind tying up the back, I can't reach it."

I nod slowly as I place her bedtime toy on her sheets. She walks over to the bed and perches herself next to me. She parts her hair and places it over her shoulders so I can reach the lace. Her breath hitches slightly as I gingerly pull the lace to tighten and then tie it into a tight bow, gently grazing her pale skin.

She nods in thanks, then looks up at me, into my eyes, and clears her throat lightly. "Draco," she begins, pulling my hand into her lap, and closing her other palm over mine, "I've been seeing Blaise for the past few months."  
Something in my body recoils, but I try to stay expressionless.

"My mother and father think it's been going well. So they told me a week ago that we are going to dinner with the Zabini's to ask for their blessing. They, um, wish for me to marry Blaise."

As she utters the last sentence, it's as if the worlds rotations have slowed. What the bloody hell - ?

_What?_

What! ?

"But you're only 18 years old!" I blurt out. "When did this happen? What on earth urged you to date _Blaise_?"

My stomach is tightening and I feel slightly sick. I pull my hand back onto my lap, wrenching it from her grip.

I feel almost _scared. Scared_. For _her._ Pansy Parkinson, who never really cared for _me_. Just who I was.

But wait, why do I have feelings about _her?_ It's me, Draco; I'm supposed to put myself before anyone. Look out for number 1.

I feel like a 15 year old girl.

"Draco, my parent's wanted me to date you during school so that we could do the same thing; get married. When, ahem, our relationship went sour, there was a change of plan. Blaise is one of the few eligible boys left that isn't taken or too old; he's handsome and rich, and not previously a death eater. Or a son of one," she adds, though I brush it aside, not offended.

"I know your parents wanted me to date you, and what their intentions were. But why do you _want_ to marry him? I mean, it's _Blaise._"

Her eyes widen. "You _knew?"_

"Of course! Your mother wasn't very subtle about it. She kept hinting at it and talking to me about it alone. But I mean….I actually liked you. I can hide my inner feelings well, but I wouldn't have had sex with you, or kissed you for that matter, if I didn't. I was never certain of your actions, whether they were genuine or not, so that's why it never grew into love. Like you said, we all stay guarded from fear of vulnerability. I mean, I hardly even expect to marry someone I _do_ love, because look at our parents." I say, referring to the fact her father is always out at sleazy places meeting women, and the state of my family. "I just…you were one of the few people I didn't loathe. You may annoy me sometimes, but we're practically the same person, gender aside."

She looks at me with narrow eyes and a frown, confused evidently. "I never knew that you knew."

"Well now you do."

I take off my blazer, feeling a bit warm, and shove it onto the floor, not caring. I roll up my sleeves and rest my head on my hands which rest on my knees.

"I don't want to marry him, you know." She says to the air, looking straight ahead at the wall.

"Then why are you going to? _He's disgusting_."

"I don't think I _will, _honestly. But I feel like I have no choice but to try. I didn't finish school, technically. And I don't need a job anyways, but I _definitely_ need a husband. Need to start a family…," she trails.

"You're 18. You need time to go do interesting things. And the Dark Lord is dead. Who gives a fuck about starting a pureblood family anymore? There's nobody who will be out to kill you if you don't. This is absolutely Medieval."

"_Draco!_"

"Sorry, but that's just how I feel. I guess I'm just upset. I mean, that's what my mother and father did, got married too early for pure gain. I know they did love each other but look at them. 30 plus years of marriage and now father's in Azkaban while my mother fucks some French guy."

I feel a hand coaxing on my wrist and I look at my ex-girlfriend. She's giving me a sympathetic look. _Pansy Parkinson; sympathetic. _The world is mental.

"You aren't _jealous_ are you?" she asks almost hopefully.

"No," I reply automatically. She gives me a sour stare. "Well…maybe a bit. I just don't know what would compel you to even touch that git."

She smiles slightly and shakes her head. "He's not that bad."

"He called you a desperate kneazle for going out with me!"

"Well he told me he said that out of jealousy…" she blushes furiously. "I don't know, it was all very sudden. I saw him at a dinner party and we were the only two under the age of 60. So naturally because we knew each other and everyone else was discussing politics and boring things we talked together. It was actually rather enjoyable, though I was slightly pissed from the wine, and he asked me to lunch the next week."

"And you went?" She probably only went because she was flattered he found her attractive after he insulted her. And he was drunk. But that's too rude to say aloud.

"_Yes. _It'll be fine, Draco. I have a feeling tonight won't work out; Blaise doesn't want to marry me either, and his Mother is such a pushover to him. Very pretentious. My parent's just think too highly of themselves; I mean, not that I'm not fabulous or anything, but it's not like we're super prestigious in the public eye. Mrs. Zabini didn't look very impressed by us the last dinner we had…"

"Well that's because she has a shoe up her ass and shit in her nose."

"_Draco_," Pansy giggles. "She's just famous. I mean Blaise isn't _that_ bad."

"You keep on saying that but I'm not convinced, unfortunately."

"When we went on our first date he didn't talk about himself the entire time for once." She shrugs.

"Really?" I suddenly have an image of Pansy holding Blaise's hand and walking down a country lane…no it doesn't seem natural.

"Yes. He was perfectly fine, but we haven't done anything past snog. He's not that romantic. Or particularly feisty for love." I shudder at the thought.

"_PANSY, WE'RE LEAVING NOW!"_ comes the sudden screeching voice of Pansy's mom.

We both cringe.

"Oh, _fuck_, I wasn't finished getting ready. All well, guess I can't touch up my makeup." She pouts.

"You look beautiful, Pansy. And you're seeing _Blaise_, don't worry about it. He wouldn't be impressed even if you were a Veela dipped in gold." I say this so sincerely that she recoils slightly.

She looks confused again, but gives me a slightly wicked grin anyways. She stands up and grabs a pink pocketbook, pulling out a key as she unfastens it.

"This is a copy of the key to my parent's liquor cabinet. It's in the front hall; I know how much you enjoy whiskey," she titters. "So you can indulge if you want. We'll probably be gone for 6 hours, ugh. Don't overdo it though, kay? If you get me into trouble, I may have to hex you."

I raise an eyebrow but take the key thankfully. Thank god she understands my need for booze. Nothing like a nice drunken sleep. I certainly need it right now with all this confusion and hormones bubbling.

Pansy is being nice to me. I'm being nice to _her_. We have never been _nice._ I've been distant, she's been clingy on purpose.

But is that really her? I mean, I did quite like her witticisms and devilish charms before we were an item. Then she became all "Poor, Draco!" and it became somewhat annoying, even if I did like the attention.

God, and then there's Granger, who is so far off the left field from Pansy it's sickening.

"Thanks, Pansy. Have a _pleasant_ evening," I say pocketing the key and ignoring my thoughts with a smirk.

She looks at me murderously.

"Oh, I will. Maybe I'll accidentally spill hot soup all over Blaise's Italian dinner jacket just for you." I laugh as she leaves, and fall back onto her bed, thinking about how weird this bloody day has been.

After a few minutes of hearing conversation and doors slamming, I twirl the key around in my hands. Time for booze, I think.

* * *

I can only see black.

"_Sniff, sniff."_

I sense movement close to me. Oh god, it's loud.

_Ugh, headache. I have a _massive_ headache._

Where the hell am I, anyways?

I blink open my eyes slowly while trying to sit up. I can't see a damn thing.

And then like I've just been doused in ice water, I remember. My vision is focusing slowly in this darkness. A sliver of moonlight casts through the solitary window and sheds light in the room when I piece everything together.

I'm in Pansy Parkinson's house; in her _bed_. And she's standing over there by her closet_._ She was making the noise.

She's in just her _panties_.

_What the hell!_

I look down at myself and, _oh god._ I'm only in my silky boxers clutching still a Firewhiskey bottle. I gaze to the left at her nightstand and there stands 2 empty wine bottles. My clothes are untidily on the floor.

So classy.

I look up to her small clock on the wall; 1:07 AM.

The night's events are slowly swirling around my mind in a haze, like loose penseive memories. Fuck, I drank by myself for 4 straight hours and then fell asleep on her bed.

Fuck, I vividly remember stumbling into her bathroom and wanking, I get so god damn horny when I'm plastered.

_Fuck_, what do I do now? Pretend I'm asleep? Oh but she probably will 'wake me up' and ask me to put on something decent so she can rest in peace. She's probably livid right now that I drank too much.

And then as I think she's about to yell at me or smack me awake, I hear a loud sob. I shuffle in the dark startled. She's _crying._

Crying!

Well this is just fine and dandy.

What do I say to a crying girl?

_Nothing, you're asleep.  
_But I'm not. I want to know the outcome of her and Blaise's pending marriage.

I watch carefully as she saunters over here to the bed and slumps on it gracefully, wearing just a pink slip. As she leans on the bed, I move a bit to act like I've just 'woken up'.

"_Draco," _she whispers sadly. "Did I wake you?"

I lean upwards a bit and place the whiskey bottle down beside the bed.

"N-nooo, I was a little awake when you came in. Why are you so sad, Pans?" Fuck, my mouth is drunker than my mind apparently. I just called her _Pans._ That's only what I called her when we had sex.

"_Pans?"_

"Sorry, drank a bit too-oooo much." I say while yawning, covering my face with my hand to hide its pink shade.

"Clearly," she lets out a sad chuckle. "Half a bottle of whiskey and 2 wine bottles? And now you're half naked on my bed."

"I was _going_ to get dressed. I just didn't feel like sleeping in a dress shirt. I hadn't planned on being in such a drunken state when you returned."

"No, no…it's ok."

_Huh?_

I look over at her and the mascara and eye shadow she had perfected earlier has smeared down her face. She has an almost glazed look in her eyes and I realize she's wasted too.

"What do you mean 'it's ok?'"

She says nothing, and leans back against the headboard. With my blurry vision, I attempt to push myself up next to her.

"Pansy…why are you crying? What's wr-"

"DRACO!" she wails suddenly, making me jump out of my skin. "Why did you _have_ to come baaaack?"

_Come back?_

"Come back? Where did I _go?_ I haven't gone anywhere."

"I know, b-but, you were so depressed and worrisome all of 6th year, and then you never spoke to me during the 7th when you were off doing Merlin knows what with Death Eaters. I just thought…I thought you didn't want me anymore, didn't like me. And then you sh-show up now, a fucking year later, and – and, act all nice, and flattering, and it's so_strange,_ because I didn't think you could ever be, well, I don't know how to phrase it. You`ve never been sincerely loving towards me. We just did things together because we both wanted to try them for the first time. It was all a big game to my mother and father to snatch you up early on. And I went along with it because I found you attractive and everybody wanted to be near you in Slytherin. I felt special to be chosen by you. We hung out a lot in third year, you took me to the Yule Ball, etc. Then in fifth year we went out, made out, had sex for the first time. I thought you cared."

"I did care, Pansy," I reply weary. Why does she want to do this now? It isn't my fault I couldn't stay with her.

"Then you were all distant. I know it had to do with your father going into Azkaban, and then the whole mission with the Dark Lord, and everything else that goes along with it…I just, _missed you_. But my pride was too great to admit it. And after the war, seeing you leave with your mother...I gave up ever thinking about you that way again because I didn't know if I'd see you properly again, or if I should. Then out of the blue I get this letter from you, after everything was over and done with, and it's asking me if I'm okay, and would I like to see you. Here I am just shocked. Of _course_ I wanted to see you. But I also didn't, do you know what I mean?"

I sit in this drunken haze, not knowing what she means at all, but finally understanding how she sees me for the first time ever.

"I don't think I do."

She sighs and continues blabbering. "Look Draco, being with you was easy when you were popular in the group. But when you aren't popular anywhere it's a struggle to convince everyone, you know, that you're a good person. And then you show up all sad and broken and kind of pathetic but I hadn't seen you in so long, you know?" she hits my arm a few times to get the message across . "Then my mother is all, 'Pansy! Jean Pierre Du Pont! He's rich, so very rich! Get Draco back!' like I'm some magic love potion maker and –"

"Wait, what?" I put my hand over her mouth so she shuts up and she bats it away like I've interrupted this hugely inspirational pep talk.

"Yes, mother said Mr. Du Pont is the richest wizard in France."

"Figures," I say shaking my head. Mother is so shallow, yeesh. This man is exactly like father, why doesn't she see it? Rich, good looking and basically an asshole.

"Oh, come now, Draco. Now she doesn't want me to marry Blaise at least, right? Ha ha!" She giggles very high pitch and I flinch. "I mean, I _do _miss your cock, like you said earlier."

_Huh?_ She shuffles closer to me. "I just couldn't admit _that_ when you said it_, _especially when I'd ignored you for so long. I know that was rather rude, but it was my parent's will. And you looked really good on my doorstep and then you were all nice on my bed and you seemed to spite Blaise so much and I dunno, it's like you cared about me for the first time."

"Pansy, I always appreciated the attention you gave me...like I said, you mean a lot to me. If I didn't, I wouldn't converse with you. It's just...I don't know what to make of this; of you now. Here you are dating Blaise and acting more mature, yet still following orders from your mum like you're 13 again."

"Draco, just shut up. Listen to me. I just, I don't want Blaise, I don't. I want -" She suddenly goes quiet and I turn to her to notice she's staring right at me. Her eyes focused in on mine burning a hole in my retinas.

"_What?_" I ask.

"I want to marry _you_."

And in one frightening movement she grabs the back of my head fiercely, tangles her manicured nails in my hair, and kisses me like my mouth is her only sustenance.


	26. The Whole Truth

**_Don't try and get me confused._**  
**_Cause I do understand, that sometimes people need help._**  
**_That they may need a hand when there are problems going on._**

**_A thing you have to get straight,_**  
**_Is that you don't own my hand._**  
**_And I don't owe you a thing._**  
**_So don't think about how sorry you feel when now your're treated so bad._**

**_This common place is so lazy, old, and tired_**  
**_All your ideas are so fucking uninspired._**  
**- _The Fight_, Avenged Sevenfold**

* * *

"I don't even know where to begin."

_Or how I'm supposed to explain anything or everything without revealing that I'm a witch, for that matter._

"From the very beginning, love!" Andrea laughs as she plonks down the tea and chocolate sprinkle cupcakes we ordered and sits across from me in our booth.

Like I propositioned, we are presently sitting in Lenora's Bakery, my all-time favourite spot for sweets. It's _so _pleasant; the walls are a calm mauve, subtle art prints plastered onto them. The half of the bakery that isn't a kitchen is a seating area, like a bistro. It's very quaint, barely noticeable when walking past on outside streets. But I love coming here _because_ it's quiet. A private place to read and talk in silence.

Not to mention the desserts are to die for.

Every time (and it never fails) I eat a cupcake here for instance, I seriously feel like my mood shifts up 3 notches for the rest of the day. I always fall asleep happy that night.

_That_ good.

I discovered it 5 years ago one summer afternoon when I was searching for a 'special' shop that held a book to help instruct me on how to properly use the time-turner. It's actually 3 streets down from here, called _Larkin & Larkin_, but I misread McGonagall's directions when she owled them to me. In my excitement and haste, I forgot to bring them with me, thinking that since I'd been walking on these streets for so long I'd be just fine.

_Wrong_. Frustrated after 30 minutes of walking on a seemingly wild goose chase, I realized I was ravenous as I looked into a random window. I saw and smelt fresh raspberry pie from the inside. I peered inside the door sorely tempted, having brought enough cash for the book, and _only_ the book. I'm irritatingly responsible like that. Plus, it's pounds here not galleons.

But Lenora saw me eyeing the cakes and gave me a slice for free. It was so delicious and I was so touched by her kindness in my grumbly-stomached demeanour that I came back the next day. I paid her in full which she refused, but then I just bought 2 dozen cupcakes. And, yes_,_ I did eat them all myself.

Anyways, that was a long tangent. I'm hungry after all that nostalgia.

I pick a cupcake up from our box of 4 and peel off the wrapper, take a bite, then place it on the square plate with my tea. I absentmindedly stir my drink while I chew, fully aware but ignoring the interested stare Andrea is giving me.

"So…?"

"So..?" I repeat innocently, pouring a bit of milk from the saucer into the cup.

"Are we going to start talking or what?" she prods, still smiling.

"Mmhm" I reply, shifting my vision away and pretending like I want to stare out at the street for a second. I really just need to think through what it is I want to reveal and keep hidden.

I lift the cup of tea to my lips and take a huge gulp to avoid immediate conversation.

"_Ouch!" _The tea is_ scalding_! _Oh my god._ I release the cup from my hand because of the horrible feeling in my mouth.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" I feel a fool as Andrea snatches the cup from my slackened grip, its contents already spilt all over the table. Resting it down on her plate, she looks at me with a concerned face.

"Yeah…I'm fine." _Owwwww._ I begin to feel the onset of the horrid sensation that is burnt tongue. The layered skin now dead, brittle, and unable to taste.

I cross my arms and stare down at my wrists wrapped together uncomfortably.

"Hermione," Andrea starts. "It's alright if you don't want to discuss anything personal with me. If it's too hard," she continues as she wipes the dredges of liquid with our napkins. "_Really_. I just think it's good to talk about situations such as this, especially if it's a touchy subject with parents or friends….I don't know the whole story. Clearly Draco affects you; I've never seen you so flustered, you're always level headed and guarded."

_God,_ good thing she doesn't know how I was about Ron in sixth year.  
She also doesn't know that Malfoy kissed me…

_Oh god,_ he kissed me! I feel like a confused 13 year old.

Looking up, she gives me a warm reassuring smile, and I weakly attempt to return it. But my head is so clouded and confused with so many contradictory thoughts about how I feel about him, and about Ron, and how I'm so tired of pushing my attraction away when it's so obviously there, that my mind is going to explode.

I just don't want Malfoy to know that I find him attractive, moreover tolerable, because he doesn't deserve it yet. I don`t want anyone else to know because of how horrible he`s been. They'll think I'm mad.

And on top of all that, even if I want to spill the beans to Andrea about all of this emotional mess, _how_ can I? How can I tell her anything without truthful background information to give her context? I'd just be lying half the time to cover that I'm a witch.

"It isn't that I don't want to tell you, Andrea." I say finally. "It's just…."

"Complicated?"

"Yeah," I reply, letting out a breath and a small titter. I put my hand down and accidentally drench my hand in the puddle of tea. "Oh god, this is such a mess. Hold on, I'm going to go ask Lenora for a cloth or something to clean it up."

I slide out of the booth and walk over to the counter, where Lenora is organizing a bouquet of flowers in a bright purple vase.

"Hi Lenora,"

"Hey sweetheart."

I'm so sorry but I accidentally – "

"You should tell her, you know."

"_Tell her_…?"

I give her a questioning gaze, but all she does is stare at the arrangement scrutinizingly, switching a rose with a white orchid. Lenora's wizened, wrinkled face flickers to my confused one, her protuberant hazel eyes surveying mine with a grin. She's a very grand looking woman; tall, thin, obviously beautiful in her youth, with sun- tanned skin and miles long grey hair.

"Tell her about the boy, of course, dear."

The knowing look in her expression signals to me with certainty that she _knows._ And she _knows_ that I know she knows. If that all makes sense.

But the only question that remains is_ how?_

_How _could she in any realm of hell know about Malfoy?  
_How could she - ? When did she - ?_

"I- I don't know what you mean," I admit truthfully. Maybe I'm wrong about this, maybe she's just completely loopy.

"Oh, don't play foolish with me, Hermione."

"I am really serious when I say I'm confused…"

A soft smile splays on her lips.

"Well, guess it's time to fess up. I've known you were a witch ever since you stepped foot into this shop 5 years ago," she responds nonchalantly.

_WHAT? _

"B-but _how_? Are you -?"

"_I'm_ a seer, dear." She interrupts. "I foresaw a young girl with great potential stumbling into my shop; I didn't know when or whom that would be. The future is never crystal clear. But in you came that very same day; a visit unplanned as you were so obviously flustered. I knew it had to be you because most wizards aren't usually attracted to this shop. And even if I couldn't tell immediately that you were my foretold visitor, what with the _Prophet _running stories on you and your friend Mr. Potter all the time, how could I _not_ know by now."

Stupid _Prophet._  
A seer? _Really?_

"If you knew I was a witch, how come you never revealed yourself until now, after I've been in the papers and what happened last spring? After I've been coming here for _five_ years?" I try to hide the scepticism from my voice, but after Trelawney being an arrogant fraud, despite everything I've ever read on the subject, I find it so hard to believe that _anybody _can predict the future.

"Well, you've caught me," she says winking. Winking? "I cook emotion-inducing ingredients into my baked goods, love, it's why I've done so well in the Muggle world. They think it's 'magic', ha ha," she tinkles. "Most good wizards would know instantly that their foods been tampered with, you see. I can't sell them in Diagon Alley."

Oh.

"Not that you aren't bright. But I suspect you've never had a spell-cast cupcake before my shop, let alone anything magically altered, being Muggle-born. It's not strictly speaking, _legal_. And since you _didn't_ know about me being a witch, you wouldn't have assumed because you're a kind person. It was my husband's idea, I assure you. But I agreed because I wanted to bring happiness to the people who can't afford any better. Many of my regulars are on the shallow end of the financial stick." She looks down sadly at her bouquet.

"Oh, now you must think so ill of me, tricking everyday citizens into thinking I'm just a fabulous cook." She heaves a great sigh and smiles again.

I'm at a total loss. After all this time, you'd think I wouldn't be dim enough to realize that she wasn't ordinary, but I had _no_ clue. And she has a husband? How could I never know that!

And more importantly, _how_ can she know about Malfoy? _How! ?_

I have no idea what to say next so I try to make her feel better. "You're doing what you do for the greater good at least, it's not like you put love potion or anything dangerous into your cooking that would alter how you feel about specific things or people…"

"Oh, Hermione, you think of me too justly," she laughs. And then in what seems like an instant, she tosses me a cloth out of thin air, and produces a new cup of tea for me.

"So back to the point, you should confide in your cousin about the way you feel about him. And give her the _whole _story_. _I sense a strong, loving aura around this relative of yours." She narrows her eyes at Andrea, who is oblivious to this entire argument, and then focuses back to me again "I think she would understand."

I save my breath trying to ask her how she could possibly guess that I have conflicting feelings about Malfoy and that Andrea knows not about my sorcery, and get straight to the point.

"How can I do that? After lying and hiding it for so long? What if she reacts badly? Thinks I'm hiding more then I let on or I'm just a lunatic?"

"She won't. She's your family. She cares about you and can see the struggle you're having. Besides, what have you got to lose? If the outcome really bothers you, you can always get rid of the memory of having told her, but it's better in the end to get it off your chest, isn't it?"

I'm _sick_ of erasing people's memories. After what Malfoy said to me…about being daft and foolish for modifying Mums memories too much, I just. I don't know.

It was so I wouldn't cause them more distress than they would have, but he made me feel unclean. He made me feel like a _liar._

_How can I just calmly _tell _her_?

_Oh Andrea, by the way, I'm a witch. I can do magic, I go to a special school for wizards, I essentially live a double life and I was held captive in the basement of the boy I apparently like last year when my best friends and I were defeating the darkest sorcerer of all time who almost killed us numerous times, all while being on the run from the Ministry of Magic, who runs the government. Just thought you should know._

"Just go, love. I'll make sure nobody else comes in." I flicker my gaze to her once again and with a discreet swish of her wrist towards the door, her flourish makes the "open" sign closed. "Why do you think I made your tea so hot? You're a smart girl, you just need a little push sometimes."

"But. Just a moment, how did you know about – "

"Mr. Malfoy?" I simply gape at her.  
"This morning I had you on my radar; strange because I've rarely had the same person twice, yet the aura felt exactly the same. But again, you would be flustered and again you would and come here. I wasn't sure why at first, but then a flicker of a boy was in my vision. And-" she pauses.

"…And?"

"It was unmistakeably him; Draco. Tall, blond, aristocratic and grim?" To a T.

"Um, that about sums him up. But what does that mean exactly?" I hate this. This is like a fiction book plot. But god, I guess my whole life could be written into an autobiography and nobody would ever believe it to be the truth. Girl discovers she is a witch at age 11; befriends the only boy who survived a killing curse; missions at 17 to help kill darkest wizard of all time to save the wizard world; succeeds.

"Let's just say if all goes as planned, you will become very content very soon."

"What are you talking about, what did you see? I mean, of course you aren't going to tell me but-"

"Sweetie, talk to Andrea. Her words will be wise. Then make your decision. I can't predict the future for you; the future is _not _written, your future is up to you."

"But how can that be true if you _see _what happens? You _know _what the outcome is so-"

She puts a finger to my lip, smiles at me and then points to Andrea while tucking her wand into her apron. The she saunters to the kitchen, effectively ending our conversation.

This is so much information to take in in 5 minutes. There are so many questions whizzing through my mind and I know I can't ask them. But I know in the back of my mind she's right; if I know what the potential outcome of my future is, I will either try to change it because I don't find it plausible or attempt to make it true because I want it that way. Either way I'll mess it up.

But still. The fact that seers truly exist baffles me more than any boy could, honestly.  
I slowly walk back towards the table, clutching my tea with hands shaking. This is so scary.  
This is it.

If I want real advice and somebody else to talk to without worrying about concealment; this is my opportunity.

_Okay, just relax. Focus; you'll be fine. She loves you and she _will _understand._

"Andrea?"

My voice comes out little more than a whisper, cracking at the last syllable.

Andrea whips her head around expectantly.

"Yes, love?"

"I –

"I'm ready to talk."

* * *

In one fast frenzy I shove the drunken, horny Pansy off of me.

"What _are _you doing!" I whisper furiously.

Her glazed expression falters for a moment before she immediately pushes me down against the pillows and straddles my waist. Before I can wiggle my way out from her surprisingly firm grasp she wiggles her hips back and forth across my crotch, only covered in boxers mind you. She rubs her bare breasts in my face and on my chest.

My breath catches in my throat, and despite the red alert signalling inside my head, my hormones protest it enough for my sobriety to linger and I reach up to cup her boobs, roughly tracing her nipples with my fingertips.

"_Oh, Draco." _is what she moans, lilting her head back before leaning down again, still grinding against the thin fabric and sucking on my neck.

And I should push her away, I _know, _ok, but it feels so good. In the back of my mind, my conscience is screaming to stop.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. But I _love_ it. If I can fuck someone without truly falling in love with them, it's a hard habit to feel guilty about now.

And I'm getting hard. And she knows it because now she's practically riding me, fast and faster.

But no, she needs to stop. She needs to- _oh my fucking god._

She wastes no pre-erection time in snaking her hand down my underwear and grabbing my cock, pumping it up and down with a perfect combination of vigour and gentleness.  
It has been _far_ too long.

"_Do you like that?"_ she teases as she licks her way up to my ear from my jaw. My spine vibrates in a long shiver. Of course I fucking like it.

"_Yes, but-" _I need to tell her. I need to tell her about Granger.

"_But, what? It's not enough is it? Just give me a moment," _What? What is she-?

She jumps silently off my body and positions herself in between my legs, pulling down my briefs to expose the rest of my body; completely naked now.

A guttural noise escapes my throat as she licks my tip with her tongue, staring seductively into my eyes.

My toes curl and my hands become weak, all my thoughts scramble to the back as the blood flows to a place elsewhere.

But then, as she shoves my whole length down her throat, a flash of Granger, naked on her bed again, burns the back of my eyes and I realize that I can't get her the fuck out of either one of my heads.

And then as I guiltily gaze at Pansy to rid myself of another woman, I see her in a white dress, a ridiculous diamond ring on her finger and her annoying nasally voice ringing in my ears, 5 children and an office job at the Ministry.

And I can't do this.

"Pansy – Pans – _stop."_

"_Oh, are you ready to fuck now then darling?"_

Merlin, Yes.

NO.

NO.

Say it aloud, dammit!

"NO." Too loud.

Pansy looks up from my cock with spit dripping from her lips, but despite how hot she looks, despite how turned on I am, and despite how much I want her to just take me right now, I can't shake the thoughts of guilt and dread that form in the pit of my stomach.

So I need to be decent and let my Slytherin minx know how I truthfully feel.

"What do you mean, _no?_" She seems horrendously insulted.

"Look, just. Come here please."

She raises a perfectly groomed brow skeptically, but she complies and crawls beside me against the headboard.

"What is it? I can't please you or something anymore?" she asks moodily.

"No, _no, _trust me, that is not the problem," I begin and she chuckles, then loops her arm round my shoulder.

"Well why'd you make me stop then, were you going to explode early?" she titters and walks her fingers up my face to my nose and flicks it playfully.

"Pansy, I'm being serious here. Come on."

"What baby?"

Ugh. "Pansy, the thing is…."

"_Yes_?"

"The thing is that you are _drunk_…."

"I'm not _that _drunk," she hmmphs, punching me on the arm.

Ow.

"Pans, you're swaying." And she is.

"Okay maybe a bit more than I wanted to be, but-"

"No, just let me speak." I put a finger to her lips and she sucks on it. AHHH.

"Pansy, STOP. First and foremost, I'm not going to take advantage of you like this because I _don't _want to marry you, especially because the only reason you want to is because your parents approve and they just want to get to my family's money."

"W-what?" Oh god, no, please no tears. "Don't you love m-me?"

"You didn't deny what I said about your parents, Pansy."

"But don't you love me?"

I decide to ignore her, and continue on. "Second, there's something you should know about. Something that I did today. Something I'm not even sure I regret."

She stops dramatically weeping for a moment and glares at me.

"Was it another girl, or I swear I'll –" I grasp her tiny arm with my hands that she was about to swing at me and hold it.

"No…I didn't fuck another girl, but I _was_ with one. One you nor I would _ever _expect to see or talk to again."

"You didn't see a ghost did you?" She asks with widened eyes. "Was it that ghastly girl Tracey Davis? How dare she touch you!"

"No, no….it was….I was…oh mother of merlin. This will be horrible."

"What? What ever happened sweetie, I'll help you through it, ok? We don't have to get married, that was just my mother and the chardonnay talking – we can just live together maybe, and hey if you want to get a job at the ministry then I can intern or something at the hospital and-"

"Pansy, no! It wasn't necessarily anything _bad _but, but you're going to _hate _me I swear after I tell you and-"

"And we can move into London someplace big, away from the regular people of course, and-"

"Pansy, I kissed Hermione Granger."

"It'll have a big bay window, lush carpets and –WHAT!"

"We had a group project together and...I fell asleep at her house and kissed her."

She stops, mouth agape for what feels like ages, until -

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?"

She's gripping my shoulder so tight I swear the flesh is coming off, and her eyes would be red if she were a metamorphagus.

"Yes."

Suddenly I feel more naked than I already am. See this is what honesty and empathy get you, deception and distrust towards fellow man is so much better.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE."

"Pansy!"

"You – you bring that girls _filth _into here and – and don't tell me, and – and kiss me, then try and seduce me –"

"_I _did all those things? I was only let in here so you could seduce _me, _to try and marry _me. _And _filth? _Are you fucking kidding me? You told me a few hours ago you were over the prejudice!"

"Oh please! Who was the one who abused her mercilessly throughout the years? Who threw around Mudblood like it was an adjective! Or was that all because you secretly love her, and just had a juvenile way of showing it, don't make me puke. Just LEAVE."

She jumps off her bed and scrimmages around for my pants and jacket.

"Pansy, I have nowhere to go!"

"I DON'T CARE!" She bellows, throwing my clothes at me in a fit of rage. "You humiliated me. Kiss another girl, fucking Hermione Granger of all, and then come to see me? Why? Why couldn't you go somewhere else?"

The words struggle in my throat to surface. My pathetic thoughts. "I thought. I thought that if I came here maybe i'd feel the same way I did when…"

"When _what?"_

"I just thought that I was horny. But I came over here, and you were all over me and it…Granger doesn't even like me…..but all this wasn't the same."

"It….wasn't….the."

She slowly walks across the room to the wardrobe and opens it to retrieve her robe from this afternoon.

"_You're a fucking loser, you know that?_" she whispers as she covers up.

"Your whole family is a _joke. _Your mother is only dating that man for the same reasons my parents want me to date you. You think you can just go and kiss a stupid Gryffindor, unpure minx who happens to be really famous now, and that everyone is just going to turn the other way?"

_What?_

"How dare you? Does your miniscule brain have any capacity to feel or understand anything other than gain in relationships?" I spit out at her.

"_Excuse me?_"

"I kissed Granger because I had a dream about her, because I can't get her out of my godddamn head, and because she was _nice _to me, even after everything I've done. She was willing to forgive me enough to let me into her house, and not be a petty bitch."

"A petty bitch _like me_? You like that bitch don't you, Draco. Sounds like you both will live a great life in Muggle London with all the grimy city folk. Sounds like you'll really love her and her saintliness."

"I don't love her! All I did was kiss her _once."  
_  
"AGGGGH!" she wails. "But you still did it! YOU. The fucking king of venomous threats and insults. You _hated _that vile bitch because of the company she keeps. Surely Weasley and Potter won't be happy about this?"

"I don't care anymore, Pansy. I don't care about being better than everyone else. Obviously my life is turned into shit, but I just want something to make me feel again. Love, hatred, anything.

"You have me! Don't you understand I want you back? Even after you're status is shit I still want you."

"But you don't get it! I want someone who loves me unconditionally, who doesn't feel like they're settling. Who cares so much wealth, like you do. I just don't fucking care anymore about everything we were told."

"I don't get it? Well you know what, neither do you! You know how the world works here, and you're rebelling for no goddamn reason other than to get out of your cycle of life."

"Exactly! That's it, you fucking tart, you understand? Je ne veux vivre comme ceci plus! I don't want to live like that!"

"Get out then! If you're not willing to commit to this life you were given, the one full of luxury, then fine! But I never want to see you again!"

"FINE!" I shove my legs into my crumpled pants, my chest and arms into my shirt and grab my blazer, running out of her room as quietly as I can.

This was a fucking disaster. I knew it was a mistake, why the fuck did I delude myself.

I _like _Granger.

I want her to like me.

And that scares the shit out of me.

"Draco, wait –"

I run down her staircase and grab my wand from the gargoyle at her front door, running outside and dissaparating.

Seconds later I appear at a place I never thought I'd go, _ever. _The Leaky Motherfucking Happy Fun Time Cauldron.


	27. A Chance Meeting

_**Left the only worries I had in my hands,**_  
_**Away from the light in my eyes.**_  
_**Holding tight and try not to hide how I feel.**_  
_**'Cause feelings mean nothing now -**_

_**All those feelings, those yesterdays feelings will all be lost in time.**_  
_**But today I've wasted away, for today is on my mind.**_

**_- Yesterday's Feelings,_ The Used**

* * *

You know those moments in your life where when something initially happened, it happened so vividly? And yet come time to recall that memory, it all seems such a blur?

Right now, that very feeling is just hitting me as I flicker my tired eyes open to witness Andrea standing in my bedroom. She's opening the curtains to this Sunday morning, and when my stomach fills immediately with anxiety and dread, I fathom fully that I _told _her.

Yesterday as promised, I explained everything to Andrea about my secret life, and I mean - _Every. Single. Thing._

The conversation in a nutshell went a little something like this; Andrea gushing nonstop about how amazing I am, or how much I've been through, and "Oh my god!" about a thousand times.

I blushed as we sat in our little booth, and let the news sink in as I watched people walk down the streets outside. The sun had started to set, and most of the people milling around were just getting ready for some weekend fun.

I, on the other hand, was left to bare my life story inside, in intimate discretion. The thing is, I literally told her every aspect, every tiny point I can remember from the moment I found out I was a witch at age 11, up until 4 pm yesterday when Malfoy left the house. I don't think there was a single minute detail left out.

And let me tell you, once you start talking about something you've hidden for such a long period of time, you just _can't_ stop. I wasn't planning on letting all the facts of my personal life out in the open, but for some reason the words kept pouring out. It felt in that moment like a weight had been lifted slightly out of my chest, although I think I may have permanently damaged Andrea's perception of me.

I'm trying to remember it, and I wonder if I told her too much. Too late now I suppose….

"_You're ready to talk, Hermione?" she replied to me surprised, gazing up at my no doubt anxiety filled expression._

"_Yes," I breathed, and slumped into the booth, taking a deep breathe to calm myself._

"_You look mighty nervous." She chuckled._

Oh, if she only knew what she was about to get into.

"_That's because I am, quite frankly." Her smile faltered when I said it, I suppose she was expecting something fairly light._

"_Andrea?"_

"_Yes dear?" I raised my eyes to level with her composed green ones, feeling as if I was about to drop a bomb…_

"_I'm a –I'm - you know how me and my parents have been quite wacky with contacting you and the family these past few years?"_

_I couldn't say it right away, I was far too nervous. Generally, I find myself able to explain myself coherently but this is someone I care for, someone I had lied to and hid secrets from. Yet she loves me all the same unsuspecting, which makes the matter much harder._

"_Well, yes, now you mention it," she replied. "It was so odd of them to go off to Melbourne for no rhyme or reason while you went away to school. And I feel as if every time I see you guys you are anxious about something, like a problem is lurking around that you don't want to discuss…but what does all this have to do with liking a boy?" she laughed again._

"_Andrea," I sighed, "In order for you to understand _why _everything is so complicated to me and not to you, at least on the outside, about the nature of Malfoy and I's relationship, I need to tell you something that – that I, we've, hidden from you since I was 11."_

_Her eyes widened. "_Eleven_? Did something happen, Hermione? With a boy? With _him? _Did you get abused? Please tell me, please!" She grabbed my hands, rubbing them in a comforting way._

"_Oh, something happened alright," I almost laughed, dropping our hands to the table. "Not what you think, though. Let me warn you now, you probably won't believe me. So prepare."_

"_What is it?"_

_One more deep inhale. "Andrea, _I_ wrote those e-mails and letters telling everyone Mum & Dad were in Australia while I was at school. The truth is, that I'm – Andrea, I'm a witch. I can do magic."_

Her jaw dropped agape slightly, her grip slackened on my palms as her expression turned to one of skepticism, raised eyebrows and an audible unbelieving laugh. But of course she paused for a moment with wide eyes when I pulled out my wand.

"_Here, just_ - _This_ _is my wand. I use it to do all my, erm, spells. Magic spells. Here watch. I'll demonstrate."_

I used _Wingardium Leviosa_ nervously to make a cupcake float. As the incantation left my lips, her face remained the exact same save for even wider eyes that became fascinated; and stunned silence is not a common occurrence for Andrea.

Then, finally;

"_That. Is so…COOL!"_

"_What_?" She looked positively awestruck. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lenora smiling, peeking at us from behind her azaleas.

"_How come you hid that from me for so long! OH MY GOD," she dramatically lowered her voice, "I'm so sorry! What if the owner saw that?" she whispered, scanning for the shopkeeper who was unbeknownst to her, the instigator._

The relief that she wasn't angry or scared made my mood dip 180 degrees, a crescendo of glee, and I let out a long giggle until I could compose myself long enough to explain that Lenora too was a witch.

"_You_ _mean, anyone can be a witch?"_

"_Well, no, it's something that you are born with, but wizards can sometimes skip generations without a single magical family member, so I guess great-great grandmother was magic or something…"_

"_That is so freaking…mind- boggling! Geez I am at a loss for words. Like, I have so many questions."_

"_I knew you would, and I'll try as best I can to answer them. I'm just so glad you aren't angry."_

"_ANGRY? Pshh! I used to be Wiccan, dude. Ok, so for like a month, but I just _knew _there had to be something crazy out there! Why would history have so much evidence? Okay, okay, okay," She was practically hysterical. "Like, what kind of spells can you do exactly? Are there other mythical beings out there? And are witches and things just waltzing around all over the place? Is your Mum a witch? Oh, wait you said it skipped generations….so is Malfoy a witch too, then? Wait, no that doesn't sound male…"_

And on and on the questions went. I explained all the magical basics that I learned when I was a young witch, promising to lend her _Hogwarts: A History_ among others. I told her about Diagon Alley, Hogwarts of course, and Wizard England and Europe. I was attempting to clarify how society works, almost primitive in some ways that differ a lot from Muggles.

And then I told her about Voldemort.

"_Geez, so magic is really temperamental….and dangerous! I mean, a love potion? That's like a date-rape waiting to happen…And killing curses?" As she said this I knew I had to explain Voldemort, but again, I didn't know how she'd react. Magic is one thing, blocking curses another, but would she be frightened, had she fully grasped the fact that wizards could be a real threat?_

"_Yes, it's the equivalent of drugs and guns, really. I mean, most people don't use them. Now, this is where it kind of gets a bit…complicated. I explained that Malfoy is rich last night, yes?"_

"_Ooh, yes, oh I forgot about him! And _now _it's complicated? Holy lord, woman. So he's a wizard, and it was obvious he's rich…but what's the _problem _with him being wealthy?"_

"_The problem is not that he's rich necessarily, it's that he's a pureblood. That means his entire family are magical. And as you can see…I am not pure."_

"_But…why does that matter?"_

"_It's difficult to explain. It would be like upper and lower class. But harsher. It's almost like white supremacy, Andrea. It's blatant prejudice what most of these people churn. Malfoy hated me, and maybe still does, because I'm what they call a 'mudblood'. To be honest, I think he was just jealous that I was better than him in class, and because I was friends with Harry and he couldn't be…and I hope that it's something he learned from his horrible, awful family. I just…why the hell am I attracted to him?"_

"_Every wizard treats you badly because you don't come from a family of wizards?"_

"_No, no, just most rich purebloods, the aristocracy. They're mostly awful, they have a lot of control on political matters because of their ability to bribe and here, really. If I were to ever begin a relationship though, his family no doubt would hate me." Or maybe they'd love that 'famous' Hermione Granger might save their reputation, ugh!_

"_He let up on it a few years ago, he became involved in things he couldn't handle…and now this erm,thing I'm about to tell you is probably the most complicating aspect of everything concerning my life in context; may take a while for you to drink it all in."_

_She said nothing, very attentive. So I continued;_

"_Last year a war broke out between everyone in the wizarding world and this one tyrant and his followers…his name was Voldemort." Andrea snickered but quickly refrained once she saw how serious I was._

"_I know his name is odd, but, oh lord, okay. My friend Harry is the most famous wizard probably in the world, Harry Potter. The reason for this is he's the only person ever to live that survived the killing curse, Avada Kedavra…And who casted but Voldemort himself, when Harry was a baby of 1."_

_More jaw dropping._

"_Yes, I think here we have disgusting criminals…. Because of that incident he's had to deal with, well shit from the public, his whole life. It turns out Voldemort marked him as his enemy due to a prophecy, just don't ask yet," I raise my hand as she opened her mouth for more interrogation. "And so Voldemort was dead, only he wasn't because he sealed his soul into fragments, again, I'll explain in a moment. Now that he was strong again, when we were 11, he fled to kill hi. It took 6 years to figure out that if Harry won, killed him for good, the whole world would be saved….but if not, if he had died for real, Muggles, so you, and me because of blood, would be slaves. Any wizards who refused to serve would be killed, and only purebloods descended or in Slytherin house, which as I explained was a section of my school, Hogwarts, would survive as accomplices, probably under strict servitude until Voldemort managed to be killed. It would've been like Europe if Hitler had won the war, but it would affect the entire planet not just wizards."_

"I – _I don't quite- _"

"_The point is, Harry, my other friend Ron and I have been friends since we were eleven, and last year we were on the run trying to figure out how to destroy Voldemort. I didn't go to school, I was a wanted fugitive. The ministry was overrun by his power, and to keep them safe I made Mum and Dad believe they wanted to be in Australia. And…you have to promise you won't tell them, I'm begging you, please."_

"_Tell them what, I cross my heart!" Her hand was clasping mine again._

"_I modified their memories to think I didn't exist. So nobody would come to get information about me and torture it out of them because they wouldn't know who I am, they'd have nothing to give. And when I found them again, we won after all, I made them think I was with a lot of adult protection, and that a gun killed Voldemort, not Harry, who is the bravest soul I've ever known. They don't know the level of involvement I had with everything because they couldn't know. It was too important and confidential. And I can tell you know because it's all over. It's…over."_

I hadn't realized I was looking down but when I looked up, adulation and a little speck of tears were on Andrea's face.

She started to cry because she felt so bad that she couldn't help me through everything, and so I spent the next half hour reassuring her I was okay now, and to be honest the fact that I am even worrying about boys instead of how to avoid killers was a sign I am relatively back to normal.

Then the meat of the conversation started. I indulged her on things I've never even begun to discuss with Ginny. I told her all the things Harry, Ron and I did, separate and together; from the dangerous and illegal to the intimate and frightful. I told her how I feel about Ron, felt about Viktor, in immense detail, something I can't do with Gin or Harry, and furthering the conversation on how conflicted I've been feeling about Malfoy. I told her all the evil things he's done, to me and to my friends. All the bad experiences we've been through, and how now that everything is over, and I have different feelings blooming, my head's in a tizzy over it.

She even knows that I've seen him naked, too, oh god. And that he _kissed _me.

It was honestly the most intense conversation that I've ever had, it was _the _conversation that I lacked when I went out with Ron, because I was able to cleanse my soul and let my heart come out in the open the way I had so wanted to with him.

At the same time, it was one of the best I've ever had because I for _once_ let somebody else judge me completely and wholly, let someone in and understand me better instead of being afraid of criticism. And it was such a relief having someone listen to me be crazy instead of attempting to be level-headed every single second.

After Andrea got over the fact that I was a 'saviour', and believe me it took about a good hour to calm her down, she really gave me some good advice about my current problems.

I realized while talking about my relationships that I'm simply scared to let myself lose control, because I need it, I _crave _it. I need to feel like I'm on top of every aspect of what I_can_ have power over. It's why Ron and I were so tentative for 6 long years, it's why I couldn't just let myself have sex with him, because I _did _feel out of my element, Ron was right. If I feel uncomfortable or unfamiliar with something I feel inadequate. If I let myself go, I leave myself open for criticism, and I work so hard to be good at everything, that I don't want to fail. Ever.

I have never been open for interpretation and I want to project a certain image of intelligence. Always. I guess everyone already knows that…but sometimes I do wonder if Harry or Ron know just how insecure I can be.

It's like this; when I found out I was a witch I was absolutely determined to prove myself to my classmates because I knew there weren't going to be many wizards like me. Muggleborn. And I had been made fun of all my life for being smart and, ahem, showing it, but somehow this didn't seem the same to me. What if all the wizard children were like me? And of course they weren't, and of course I wasn't even in Ravenclaw, but regardless, I think I proved my worth. "Brightest Witch of the Age". Ha.

Anyways, so you have me on the 'good' side with Harry who if anything should be considered the most Selfless Wizard of All Time. And Ron, who is the most loyal, most – most -, oh god, when I think about it it makes me sick. He's the greatest friend anyone could ask for, and I had him.

Had him in my grasp, and I very easily could have it all again. So why do I like Malfoy all of a sudden? According to Andrea, it's cause Malfoy drives me crazy.

"_You don't want to like him because your friends hate him, because he's been a jerk and unchanged for so long that it makes you feel almost dirty, ill even, to be attracted to somebody like that. It's almost forbidden, the smart one and the bad boy. The p_erpetual _bad boy. But it's so mystifying to see him acting differently towards you that you want to discover more, yet you don't want to be judged in the happenstance that something good will come of your relationship because you're afraid you will be, with good reason, shunned by your friends that you've clearly been through everything with. Your friends will think you're crazy and foolish."_

She put it perfectly_. _The tension between Malfoy and I kills me the same way it did with Ron when I never opened my mouth to tell him how I feel. I so wanted him to be the first one to give in to it, so I could _know _for sure. And this time I don't even know if I have a chance in hell because this is an unnatural pairing we're talking about here, Malfoy and I. But the fact remains that he kissed _me. _And I need to be able to ask him about it. I need to be vulnerable, but I don't know if I can.

I mean, when I kissed Ron, even if it was in the midst of battle, I felt every single fibre of stress leave my body, and I felt like I could take on the world and win with him by my side. But that's because I was in love with him, I wanted him for so long.

And look what happened. We were together every day for a month and it felt like nothing had changed outside the fact we could hold hands and kiss.

And I _don't_ love Malfoy.

But I'm certainly attracted to him, and I – well I like him. I like him when he's honest and not playing a game.

_So what do I do?_

Andrea is going to see my parents off at King's Cross in a few hours, they decided to train to their friend's home in Ireland, and then come back here to drop back off the car. Last night since we were out for so long and had a nice late dinner. We got to talk with my parents together and though Andrea kept wanting to bring things we had discussed up, ugh, we managed to have a really good, parting night before I have to be alone with Malfoy, lord.

"Andrea, what do I do about him?" I say my first groggy words aloud of the day.

Andrea spins around and smiles.

"Oh sweetheart, just let him make the first move. Personally, after hearing about what he did, I'd take my time with this one, I don't know if I could ever trust him…but he is_definitely _into you, given the history you have, and ultimately it's up to you. He is gorgeous, he was polite, and your Mum was definitely charmed, plus he murmured your name while unconscious and he _kissed_ you, -``

"Yes, but –"

"No, you looked hot last night, he must've been dreaming about you, guys are horn dogs, sweetie. If you feel a spark with him, just go with it. Do what your gut says, for once. As you said, he seems to have changed, and if you can forgive him then it's enough for me. Just make sure it's enough for you."

"God, I should _not _have told you everything…" I mumble.

"Oh but I'm so glad you did! I feel like I'm in some secret sorority or something."

I giggle. She's so ridiculous.

"Hermione, you have to understand something. I genuinely missed being close to my relatives. Your Mum and Dad feel like mine in a way since both the 'rents decided to just get up and jet to America without me." She perches herself on my bed. "Love, I thought I was so alone the past year, what with your parents going to Australia out of the blue, I mean no one had any idea, the neighbours told your Gran and I that and it was all very strange, it felt like Mum leaving all over again…" A tear glistens in her eye and I reach out to give her a big hug, having what feels like most guilt I've ever had in my life drop in my stomach, but she stops me.

"I don't blame you for it, Hermione. I really don't. I understand why you did what you did, to keep them and us safe. I just needed them to be a bus ride away and they weren't anymore, and I didn't know what happened, and I always liked you the most out of my cousins, but for you to just tell me everything with no regrets or holding back after not having seen me in ages just…it means so much to me. Thank you."

"W-what? _Thank you! _For understanding, for not telling, and for helping me, I mean, god Andrea, I just , you've been – " And just like that we're tearing up and hugging and I know everything will be ok, and I'm eternally grateful for such a loving family, sometimes I get so caught up in my double life that I forget about being a 'muggle', being myself.

"I know, I know. You going to be okay when I'm gone?" she chuckles.

"Yes. I'm just scared being with him alone."

"Well you know I'm only a phone call away should something bad happen…"

"It's not the bad things, it's good things that may happen I'm worried about…"

"Just don't sell yourself short or give in too easy. That's how I got a raise and promotion," she winks.

"Thanks," I smile.

"You'll figure out what you want to do based on his incoming actions, love. If you're forced to do something drastic, please let me know. And lastly, don't sweat it; there's a plethora of men after you, after all. Now what say you come on down for some fancy brunch I just made before Darrell and Helen leave?"

I blush fiercely and nod my head in agreement, pulling off the covers and going to find my slippers to join my family.

* * *

_KNOCK KNOCK_

"_Housekeeping."_

Go. Away.

My head is pounding a rhythmic offbeat from my heart. They compete to be the dominating thump which only serves to cause a massive headache from this drum torture, and render me immobile on a tatty bed they call a suite at the Leaky Cauldron.

_KNOCK KNOCK_

"_House_keeping!" The maid is annoyed.

"_NO_, THANK YOU." I somehow manage to yell as I find my voice.

"It's not a bloody _choice_…these _people…."_ I hear her murmur as she sighs very exasperated and stomps loudly down the hallway.

Well, la dee da. If I were at any other inn they'd be falling over their feet at my wealthiness. Or from being frightened by a Death Eater, either or.

But, anyways.

What am I to do, exactly?

Probably I'll stay in this bed for half the day , maybe all of it. Curses, why did I drink so fucking much? I haven't drank like _that _in months, and my liver isn't really loving the sensation now that I finally got it back to normal.

I guess it's just one more dull day alone unless I dare have the cheek to go and visit Miss Granger again, but oh lord, no.

I've never really 'liked' somebody before. Sure, there have been plenty of rich witches that have made me blush or stutter when I speak to them at various parties and events, but Granger and I have a history, and it makes it about 100X more complicated for me to fathom positive feelings about her.

I don't want to care about her, and –

Merlin.

In my haste leaving Pansy's I completely forgot Granger's music device. Her iPod.

Fuck, FUCK!

"FOR FUCK"S SAKE!" I cry aloud.

Well how the _hell _am I supposed to explain this to her? I can't just go out and get her a new one either, can I? I don't know where to get one in Muggle Muggle land.

Fucking Christ.

I'm going to just have to give her some money to buy a new one…wow, this is a great start.

What was going on in my head when I visited Pansy? What did I hope to achieve?

Why didn't I just fuck her and be her stupid fiancé?

When Father gets out of Azkaban, he'd be proud I tried to keep my head down and married a good pure wife. And Mother would be happy I found someone to make me happy…. But.

I guess I wouldn't be truly happy because I don't know what I truly want. I'm sick of the easy way out.

I mean, I probably could have dealt with that constant dread inside my mind for the rest of my life, I'd be safe and away from the spotlight and I could have a nice time being a rich pompous aristocrat like I've always been, right? Of course.

However, I'd rather fuck Granger than 100 other women. And I'd like to do something for _me _for once.

Not a puppet to what I'm supposed to be. I want to let somebody in. Is it possible to shed my cowardly ways? I want to try.

_Well, well, guess you're being a grown up for once Draco_, my mind reels.

Yeah. I hate that.

All well, fuck my life.

I'll decide a logical decision to enact tomorrow…and if I can't be a responsible person now and lose everything I'm supposed to watch, I may as well at least make myself look presentable and quell a few of the many questions from Granger no doubt.

I slowly sit up, my stomach lurching, intending on getting dressed.

"Euch," I cover my mouth, feeling bile rise up into the recesses of my throat and mouth, and pry the covers off of my naked body. I run as fast as possible, a difficult hangover feat, into the loo, but I don't make it to the toilet in time.

I spew the alcoholic liquid all over myself and the bathroom floor. Some manages to get into the sink, but not much.

"Gross." Absolutely vile.

I give up. I go back into the bedroom and grab my wand off the nightstand, saunter back to the shower, turn it on and wait in my own vomit til it's hot enough. I try to siphon the smelly mess off the ground but it's only slightly successful.

I sigh and get into the steamy water, feeling a tiny bit better, much of the alcohol escaped my stomach. Having not eaten much last night, that must've been the only contents inside it.

I hesitantly use the crappy shampoo provided, wising it was my favourite brand in my own shower at my own home, and lather my scalp, trying to forget about everything else except the sensation of water falling on and off my skin.

I reach for the soap and rub myself all over, getting the sweat and dirt away. I reach my nether regions and spend an extra minute there, trying to make myself extra clean, Pansy's spittle washing away.

Rubbing my cock proves to be disastrous. I'm reminded of my horrid orgasm yesterday afternoon, and of what almost was with my ex-girlfriend. I turn the stupid nozzle off, retreating back onto the bed in a towel, and lying down while my head pulses with dull hangover ache.

I lay stagnant for about an hour before deciding that perhaps I should try and do something productive. I open my eyes, remaining still and look on the ground at my crumpled clothes.

And then I realize I have no change of underwear, or a crisp shirt. And tomorrow I simply can't show up wearing the same thing to Granger's. It would let her know something's up, and I _hate_ looking sloppy.

Guess I'm going to have to go out after all. _Ugh_.

No moisturizer, no cologne, no mousse, I'm going to look frightful. What time is it anyways?

I look to my right on the bedside; 13:47.

It's practically 2 pm? Damn.

It's Sunday afternoon, prime time for the riff raff to be out and about shopping. Well, might as well get out and make this as painless as possible.

I dress myself slowly, grab my bag slowly, wand, slowly, deeply loathing the fact I have to leave, and lock the door. On the way down the stairs an old warlock gives me a grimace and I roll my eyes. The trial of my father, obviously a prominent figure, was all over the _Prophet. _Pictures of me and for some reason stories from school and my life surfaced and the public ate up the scandal, savouring the rectification of Lucius Malfoy.

Needless to say, most people know what I look like and what and who I am.

Tom the barkeep looks me up and down, as I reach the main floor towards the entrance of Diagon Alley.

"Coming back then for another night, hm?" He smiles politely but I can see in his eyes that he mistrusts me. Thinks I won't pay up probably, giving I came in crumpled and drunk at 3 am this morning.

"Yes, thank you, just going to buy a few things." I reply curtly.

"Rough night? Trouble at home?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"You might say that," I give a humourless chuckle, and on the way out catch a glimpse of mon visage in the mirror on the wall.

Dark circles under my eyes, wet hair plastered onto my forehead_. Really_ sexy.

I sigh and make my way into the street.

I decide I'll go to Twilfit & Tattings, seeing as they're more partial to douchebag aristocrats, aka me, and seeing as Madam Malkin doesn`t particularly like me after that altercation with my mother and the Golden Trio in sixth year.

As I pass the store windows, shopkeepers and citizens pass by me, most not giving me a second look, smiling with their kids, customers, or partners. Some steer clear of me, some whisper. I've not quite learned to ignore it, having holed myself up in my house all the time. Since the defeat of the Dark Lord, Knockturn Alley has been mostly eradicated, closed up for good, and renovated into happier shops. So I can't go there for solace anymore, for good company. And quite honestly, an inn there would be seedier than the Cauldron.

The bell dings as I reach the shop at the near end of the way. Mr. Fassbender, the main dressmaker, flickers his gaze up at me from reading his copy of _Impeccably Dressed, _a fashion tabloid that documents popular styles. He's a tall man, about 30 or so, with slicked golden hair parted to the side. He's wearing slate robes today.

His gait changes slightly from bending over the counter, to more upright, more professional. But being a high end shop, he doesn't look too pleased at my appearance and doesn't come cantering over like he normally would.

"Welcome, how may I help you?" he asks bored in his German accent.

Guess he doesn't remember me. "I require some new robes, something fitted, nothing over the top."

"Hmm." He looks me up and down. "Any occasion in particular you need these for. Sir?" He's starting to be polite, he's given me the onceover, I think he's trying to decide if I'll be able to pay or not like Tom. I'm not used to this treatment. See, this is why I spend time on how I look, it pays off.

"Everyday use? As you can see I'm not quite in a well-dressed state at the moment, am I? I do need something to change into quite rapidly. If you please."

He raises his eyebrows. I suppose that was rather rude, but he's supposed to be helping me, no?

"Hmm. Any style you have in mind, Mr…?"

"Malfoy," I reply crossing my arms, emphasizing it. As soon as I do a glimmer of recognition flashes across his expression and his manner changes completely.

"Mr Malfoy! I confess, I didn't recognize you. Normally you are rather put together, but today your look has taken an erm, I guess a turn that is, well–"

"Dishevelled?" He guffaws fakely at this and I roll my eyes. Now he's making an effort; I guess people really grovel for a buck, don't they.

"Not quite, but yes…these clothes are very, Muggle-esque. Not quite your type usually I wouldn't say, would I?"

"No, not really. I've found myself in a pickle, you see." Attentive he is now, probably dying for some juicy gossip. I continue, "I am required to go into the Muggle world tomorrow, and for a few days really."

"Ghastly!" he interrupts happily, noting the trouble on my face, flicking his hands up like he's concerned, though sounding like he wants to go with me.

"A bit, I suppose. But not to _trouble_ you too much, I'm unable to retrieve my clothes at the manor, so I need new ones. To see the same, uh, people twice, in the same clothes, would be rather disrespectful I think."

"Oh, I quite agree." He nods fervently. "Well, we've got a range of new fabrics to select from_. Scarlet_ dragonscale, black _velvet_," he wiggles his eyebrows and I can't help but smirk. "I can make you anything you'd like! If you're feeling more Muggle, I'd recommend going with classic dress pants and perhaps a coat? A blazer? Oh my, how does a scarlet dragonscale leather jacket sound?"

"Er,"

"_I've always wanted to make one of those! It's too non-wizard for most people," _he says mostly to himself, almost in orgasmic delight at the prospect.

At least he likes his job.

"I'm not quite sure if I need _that, _it's a school project that I'm going for, not really an outing per se."

His face; Crestfallen. I almost feel _bad_.

"Oh. I see…"

He looks like he's going to weep, he's probably never gotten the chance to exercise his Muggle craft on the purebloods.

"I guess it wouldn't _hurt _to have a leather jacket," I say slowly, carefully. "I mean, it doesn't really matter if I wear it ever again…"

"Oh, they just look so chic! The ladies love them, you know," he winks, clapping his hands in delight. Oh god, I hope not.

"Right. Well just some basics then? And a leather jacket too."

"Oh yes! Close up the shop, I could take all day!" He exclaims. Dear Merlin, here we go.

"So here's what I envision for you, Master Malfoy." Master? I quite like that, go on. "Classic tee shirts, the Muggles have them, they _all _have them! Navy blue, white, black, neutrals to hold the outfit together!"

"Okay…"

"And TROUSERS." I fly back a few inches. "Grey linen! Dark green with flecks of unicorn hair, oh my goodness, so delicious. Green will match your eyes well and compliment your hair, and so will the scarlet, deep sexy red for that jacket!"

"Uh – "

He grabs my shoulder and spans his hand at something invisible in the air.

"Can't you see it? Yourself strolling along merrily in the Muggle streets of London! Oh, yes!"

He's bonkers.

"Lastly, how about woven cardigans? Do you know what that is? A cardigan? A blazer like this one, only much finer…maybe in navy blue, where did you get this anyways?"

This man is absolutely insane. "My mother bought me all these in Paris…"

"PARIS! Oh I envy your life, Mr. Malfoy. So privileged soo….But alas, another time, another time to be, no time to spare, strip please!"

"Excuse me?" This man. Is _insane!_

"Right right right, move along to the corner," I see 360 mirrors and a stool. "The jacket, off! Pants, shirt, off with them!"

Placing my bag down, I hesitantly move to 'the corner', thanking Merlin that there is only one window in the shop and 'stripping' for this strange man. Never before has he asked me to do this, though I've given him my measurements before so I suppose I needn't.

I flush pink in my fuscia boxers, and with my exposed tattoo, while Fassbender merely smiles at them, and me.

"You do have quite particular tastes, don't you? And you're rather thin, hm I'll see if I can work that to my advantage." He pokes and prods me with his wand as I stand awkwardly on this dinky stool for about an hour and a half, he making asinine comments along the way.

"You could use some new shoes, too, couldn't you?"

"Boxer briefs are all the rage, maybe you'd like some? I can make you fucsia silk!"

"This mark, tsk tsk, oh don't look so offended! I think we should try to keep it covered, no?"'

"Oh, aubergine would totally suit you! No? Oh come on, purple is manly."

By the time I walk out of the store, my legs ache from standing still for so long.

350 galleons later, 4 pairs of pants, 5 shirts, 2 blazers, a cardigan, a leather jacket and yes shoes and boxer-briefs later, I'm finished.

"Would you like me to add all this to your family account?"

I saunter in a daze away from the shop, my hands completely full, and I completely famished.

Which thread would I like, which colour, which thickness for god's sake would I like! I'll admit he did a spectacular job, obviously eccentric people fixate on what they like and do the damn thing. Do it well, but my lord.

I fully intend on going back to the Cauldron for a no doubt horrendous dinner, but as I pass by Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, I drag myself in. I desire some cologne and soap just so I don't have to smell like bad shampoo for the next who knows how many days. They don't carry the cologne I use regularly so I spend a good 20 minutes trying to choose one. I settle on one called _La Beau Reverie_, brewed by the Madam herself which has scents of cinnamon, firewhiskey and some sort of fruit I can't place my finger on. It's nice.

As I'm about to leave, ("Oh the ladies all _love _that one, be sure to use it one dates!") I bump into someone coming inside.

"Excuse me, I – " Holy shit, it's McGonagall.

"Mr Malfoy?" Her glasses are slightly askew, and as she fixes them I notice she isn't wearing a hat. Or tartan for that matter. Something is off.

She looks _embarrassed._

"Er, hello professor." I say awkwardly. "Nice to see you," I add a little late, though it is _not at all nice. _I wouldn't _be _in this vile mess if it weren't for her after all.

"Yes, same to you," she says insincerely. "What brings you here?" She shuffles over as a witch and her baby pass by to talk to Madam.

"Well I needed-"

"My son has broken out in a rash and I can't seem to mend it, please help!" We both look at the woman for a second and back at each other, yet I can't meet her eye.

I clear my throat. "I needed some, soap?"

"No, I meant in Diagon Alley." Huh? Why the interrogation.

She must see my expression for she says, "I merely ask because I would have expected to see you with Miss Granger, or have you not met for your giant project due in a month?" Oh.

She thinks I'm blowing her off!

"No, we met up yesterday afternoon. Professor," I say steel faced. She eyes me, trying to figure out if I'm lying.

"Did you? May I ask where? For how long?"

"Uh-" She sighs, and clears her throat.

"I don't wish to make you feel uncomfortable, but as you know this is a heavily weighted assignment, and I'm placing immense pressure on my students because I only have a half year to test this class, and if the ministry does not approve of it based on bad grades or lack of teaching material, we will not have it for the rest of the term, perhaps ever again. And seeing as for some reason you turned out to be a prodigy," she throws her hand out at me, "And Miss Granger is like her usual self, I need good examples. Some of the higher ups will be watching the performance."

Higher ups? I swallow hard, licking my lips, nervous because I realize, and I _forgot, _I have to perform in public. With Granger. In front of not just the school but the fucking_ministry._

"Well," I say, shaking my arms in nervousness. "We didn't get much done but, I travelled to her home." McGonagall raises her eyebrows up to her hairline. Why do people keep doing that!

Is it so surprising that I can be a decent human life form?

"You did?"

"Well, yes." McGonagall stops for a moment, looks at my shitty hair, my odd choice of clothing, and right back up into my face.

"Would you like some coffee Mr Malfoy?"

_What?_

"I – would be - delighted…?"

"Good," she turns and walks out of the shop and I don't know what I've gotten myself into but before I can even utter a word I find myself seated at Florian Fortescue's with a cup in front of me and my _headmaster_ asking for cream, not milk to the waitress.

"Biscuit?" she asks, holding out a ginger snap from the complimentary plate.

"Thanks…" I grab one and sip my coffee, taking a small bite out of courtesy.

"You like your coffee black."

"I find sugar makes me too jumpy."

"I myself don't like sugar. But cream makes it palatable," she smiles that line of a mouth of hers and I forcefully smile back. This is so fucking uncomfortable.

"Do you know why I put you with Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy?"

I swallow my coffee and give her an eye, my hand still on my cup. "Because Weasley is an idiot?"

She shakes her head, though the smile is still there. "No. Because I thought it might be good for you."

"Good for me? But you initially partnered me with -"

"I know I did. As I said, it was partially randomized. That was also before I realized that Miss Chang is a nervous wreck, and Mr Thomas had a, shall we say, 'thing' for Miss Granger."

"Well she had a 'thing' too."

"And you dislike that? Is that why you felt the need to intervene?" She's surveying me and I try my hardest not to break my poker face.

"I just…don't think hitting a woman is right."

"Yes, but remember Mr Malfoy, that you were the boy that made her cry when she was 12 by uttering disgusting words at her?"

I slink into my seat. How does _she _know that?

"You made her teeth grow to the floor and received no punishment, you were the boy who made Potter faint on his broomstick by pretending to be a dementor, almost made him break yet another bone because you wanted a little fun? And caused my team to be split up by that Umbridge woman?" she hardens her fist at the thought. "You've made that poor girls and her friends lives a living hell up until this point, so what exactly is it that is making you not be a little sneak this year? Have you grown up? _What_?"

She really wants an answer, she looks almost anguished that I'm not being such a douchenozzle.

"The last two years, professor; they changed me. Let's put it that way."

"That's it. That's all an answer I get for buying you coffee?" she's staring at me intently. What does she want from me?

"Look, you knew, I know you did, that every stupid thing I did was out of jealousy, a need for attention. From the minute I stepped foot into the Great Hall, don't you understand that's why I find it so difficult to , well, hold a conversation with you?" I plead.

She looks almost taken aback. "Yes, it was quite obvious you felt inadequate, but why? You aren't unintelligent. You can fly a broom once you don't insult every person on the team. And partially, it's because of your family, of being in Slytherin that perhaps I've been a bit hard on you, I'll admit; but I'm hard on everyone. "

"I guess I just felt the need to prove myself to everyone. And because Potter wouldn't be my friend based on hell knows what, I made sure he knew he made a mistake."

"And your father? Do you still need to prove yourself to him?"

I look away from her, How _dare _she bring him up?

"Look. My father has made a lot of errors in his life, I know this, but he was just doing what he thought would be the best option for the family."

"I would say more than a lot of errors. Look at yourself, Mr Malfoy, look at what you've ended up like. Don't think I'm unaware of what went on with you and Albus." _Albus?_

"It isn't your fault what happened, you felt constant pressure from your father to get information, and from Voldemort an order especially out of spite wouldn't be taken lightly, would it? You did what you did because you were loyal to your family. And maybe a little bit too much cowardice. And as we all know, Albus calculated it to happen that way and planned to die."

"I don't want to discuss this_. Please_." How can she say these things so matter of factly? My stomach is reeling from anxiety, what if someone hears?

"I know you don't, I'm trying to make a point."

"Which is what?"

"You've changed. And I don't know if it's a good thing, because I haven't spent much time with you for obvious reasons. I'm just trying to figure out why, because quite honestly it's nagging at me."

"Why does it bother you so much?" she's starting to frighten me. Does she watch me more than she lets on?

"That doesn't concern you, really." _Huh? _"But if you must know, I _love_ my house. I've grown quite a liking to all my students." Oh, it's Granger, isn't it!

"And you're worried I'll do something to Granger?"

"No, I'm quite hoping she'll 'do something' to you."

"What?"

"Draco, do you know _why _I invited you back to Hogwarts?"

"You know, I haven't the slightest." And I don't. "I guess I just didn't ask questions."

"Well I'll tell you why if you tell me why you accepted." She's being real with me, why is she being like this? She's all ears, and even though she has that severe bun look going on, she's wearing a nice dress robe and _make up. _What the fuck. She seems a nice older woman, not a stroppy schoolteacher.

"Ok, fine.… I accepted because it was something to do. Something to ease my mind, it's something useful really. The only thing. If I hadn't come, 20 galleons says I'd still be in my bedroom with a glass of sherry, rehashing memories of last year."

"Which are what?" she looks puzzled. She doesn't know, does she?

"Professor, you do know that I was a Death Eater right?" I say this blankly, and she straightens up in her seat, looking at me like Granger does, like I'm a question to be solved.

"Well, I. Well, yes I did…Albus told me what happened after he made it into his portrait, told me not to be too cross with you, though I'll admit…" she's actually finding it difficult to find words, and it hits me right now that she's a human being, isn't she? I always look at her like someone to be wary of, to avoid, but she invited me to talk to her. And nobody has done that, ever.

"Look, whatever feelings you hold towards me I probably deserve. Last year, though I was fully fledged. At first, in sixth year, I didn't understand what that meant. Until I was told that my mother was going to die if I didn't find any progress on mending the vanishing cabinet, I thought I was a big shot. I thought I could do it, and I didn't let my fear sink in until then. Once I did, there wasn't any turning back, and I knew I was going to fail, I was too scared to face a man willing to help me until death."

She says nothing, so I continue.

"And then, after the whole Snape plan thing, I was shamed by every living Death Eater, about 20 times a day, and Lord…Voldemort took a hold of my house as headquarters." Intake of breath. "I couldn't do anything anymore. I couldn't find any emotion other than terror lurking everywhere. The way my father explained it to me as a child was that if Voldemort took power we would have been safe, we would've been secure, _free,_ like normally. He didn't honestly think about the consequences because he didn't honestly believe he would come back, the idiot. And then here I was, barely 17, and forced to hurt people 20 years older than me, curse them or face punishment myself. And let me tell you sometimes I wished I could be a psychopath just so I wouldn't have to feel this constant remorse, this constant justification in my mind that I'm not a bad person anymore because I quit. Because I am a bad person. I want nothing to do with pureblood society anymore. I want a normal, quiet life, and that's just not going to happen."

"And why not?" I turn to face McGonagall, and pity resides in her face. _Pity._

"Because everyone hates me. It took me a year to stop drinking so much, and I still can barely eat. Meanwhile, Potter and friends are completely fine. Because they have nothing to feel bad about. And I envy them because they chose the right path. There, happy? I said it."

She pauses for a moment before speaking again.

"Mr Malfoy, I truly think you need someone to talk to about your feelings. I asked you why you chose to come back to school and received all…_that"_

"Sorry," I mutter.

I _am_ nuts. I belong in the mental house.

"Don't be sorry. I asked you, you told. So here's my answer; I brought you back to Hogwarts, Draco, because I saw potential in you."

"Potential?" I ask, chuckling almost at that. Honestly, _me_?

"Don't scoff at me young man. You surprised me; I didn't think you had it in you to return, I thought you may take the Pansy Parkinson route."

"I would _never _take the Pansy Parkinson route." I say, disgusted at her words last night.

"Apparently not. See, _this. This_ is what I mean by a change. You don't seem so hell-bent on trying to show everyone how amazing you are this year. You haven't bragged once or told any tales to stir up drama. You've made mistakes, but are you truly a bad person, Draco? I don't know. But recognizing your errors and feeling remorse makes you a human being. You`re no monster. And in all honesty, you did what most people would've done in your situation. Don't berate yourself because we can't all have the strong will of Harry Potter, you haven't lived the life he has. You were a spoiled brat and to someone like Potter, who hadn't received any kindness or attention until he was 11, you no doubt rubbed him in all the wrong ways."

"I would say so, _but he didn't have to be such a prick_…"I mumble, and the smile is back.

"Now, may I ask you one more question before I'm on my way?"

"Sure, why not, we're already past small talk."

God, I'm hiring a therapist, McGonagall knows my life story practically.

"Why go to Miss Granger's house? Sorry, two questions; and which composer did you choose?"

Oh, lord.

Should I? Fuck I've already gotten in too deep.

"Professor, I'll tell you why, but you have to _promise_ not to tell anyone else."

She narrows her eyes, contemplating me. "All right," she takes a sip.

"Professor, there was a point last year when snatchers captured the three and brought them to my house, headquarters. They didn't know if it was Potter however, because he had a jinx on his face. They thought it might be Weasley and Granger, but they wouldn't have called the Dark Lord if they weren't absolutely sure that it was Potter, the only one who mattered, because of the consequences had they been wrong." I gulp.

McGonagall drops her cup on the plate and widens her eyes at me. "Continue, please," she almost begs.

"My father asked me if I knew if it was him."

Another deep intake of breath.

"It was repulsive how joyous the prospect of being in the good books would be with the Dark Lord. But I told him that I wasn't sure, and that it only _could_ be, probably the only decent thing I've ever done in my life. And then Bellatrix, my lovely aunt," I add sarcastically and McGonagall thumps the table, obviously disliking her too, "noticed that he had a scar, and she _knew, _so they locked them in a cellar." This memory is so vivid, it's flooding back into my mind. "All except Granger, whom she tortured and called a mudblood, because she had silver sword in her bag. I didn't understand, but apparently it was a big deal. It was so horrifying that I couldn't watch it, like a coward. And I feel guilty that I didn't step in or say anything, I should've said something that I knew it wasn't her, _anything. _But I'm an idiot and I stood by my sobbing mother instead." I finish in a whisper, with my head in my hands.

McGonagall is stunned.

"_That _is why I went to her house. I didn't want to, I'll admit it. I've never been anywhere Muggle. But we didn't stay at Hogwarts. And because maybe she deserves a little break from my humble abode, and I've been such an ass…I can find it within myself to do her a favour. We chose a band she likes, Muse, who I actually find interesting, and all in all we've made no progress, but I'm going over there tomorrow so I hope it goes better."

She's still stunned, staring at me, without pity however.

"I-I'm. Impressed," she chooses to say.

"_Really?"_

"You continue to amaze me, though you'll have to do a bit more than that I'm afraid to cover up your past discrepincies," she says and chuckles. _Chuckles._

"Understandable?"

"Well this has been one of the more _interesting_ conversations I've had all year. Eye-opening to say the least…But alas, I need to get my shopping done, and I'm sure you need to do more studying, yes?" She grabs her bag.

I nod, unsure of what to say at this closing juncture. And then,

"May I ask _you _one last question, professor?" I stand up and walk over to pull out her chair, a gesture she seems pleased about.

"Of course. What is it?"

"Why do you think Granger would do me some good, so to speak?" McGonagall stands up, brushes of her skirt and smiles, pointing me to the exit.

"Because _Miss_ Granger is an incredibly caring person, Mr Malfoy. Very forgiving, if the person deserves it, and also very determined to get that 'O'. I knew she'd have trouble adjusting with you, but she wants a good grade. I thought that her cooperation and willingness to work when she is very demanding herself would show you a great example of how not to be, shall we say, close-minded? Given your history." We're walking out the door and let her words sink into my brain.

"You're right, I suppose, but you did notice that I made no fuss? Or at least only a miniscule one?"

"I did. Thank you for pointing it out," she says, the tight smile still there. "Now all _you _have to do is deserve that forgiveness as you've been slowly working towards, and maybe you'll see that your enemies can be turned into something more positive, yes?"

"So in other words, you're trying to make my life difficult to make it easier?"

"Exactly. You know, besides the general temperament, you and Miss Granger are strangely alike."

"We _are_?"

"I would say so. Goodbye, Mr Malfoy," she waves as she turns the direction from which we were walking. But…

"Thanks for the coffee, professor."

"You're welcome. Oh, and Draco?"

I stop and listen as she rushes back to me, grabbing my arm lightly. "Do try to convince Hermione to do a composer, will you? I'm sure she has good taste, but I highly doubt a Muggle band will impress the higher-ups!" She saunters away again, and I walk back to the Leaky Cauldron in a daze.

Quite unbelievable what just happened here today. I had a conversation about my life with a _professor, _one I previously loathed. _And it actually made me feel better._

I walk up to my room, not even caring about my new clothes, throwing them on the ground, taking off my blazer and lying down to think through my thoughts about last year, something I haven't done properly.

And as I contemplate my stupid actions of last year, I know if I can get through it; I can go tomorrow to see Granger without exploding at her, and I'll still be miserable about my mother, about my father being in jail, but maybe I can just focus on how to be a better person _now _and forget about the past until I need to worry about it.


	28. Bliss

_**Everything about you is how i'd want to be - your freedom comes naturally.**_  
_**Everything about you is so easy to love, they're watching you from above.**_  
_**Give me, all that peace and joy in your mind.**_

_**- Bliss, **_**Muse**

* * *

I need to finish off this question, but the phone is ringing.

Should I answer it?, I ask myself as I veer my eyes from my page to the cell phone lying on the bed. I never use it, but maybe it's important, oh screw it.

I scribble down the last 5 words and make a mad dash towards my emergency flip phone.

Click.

"Hello?"

"_Hermione?"_

"Oh hi, Andrea!" I didn't even know she had my number!

"_Hey girl, doing okay by yourself?"_

I spent last afternoon and night, after my parents left, attempting to respond to some of the questions McGonagall gave us on spare parchment – it was very odd mixing Muggle words and terms, especially concerning _music, _with such Wizarding staples; quills and ink.

"Yes, I'm just fine. You? I kept myself preoccupied with work, doing some now actually. Have Mum and Dad called you yet?" Andrea came by with the car after dropping off my parents at King's Cross to quickly chit chat before she went home to catch up on some office things.

"_I'm_ _fabulous as always. And no," _she replies disappointed. "_But granted, they're taking a train to a freaking dental convention, you know how they are about that. Plus it took about 6 hours to get there; they would've gotten to the rooms maybe at 11 pm? They were probably too tired, and this morning just _had _to meet everyone in the hotel and since Helen gave you her cell, she wouldn't have that on her, right?"_

"I suppose you're right I'm just – "

_RING RING RING_

"Oh, hold on, this might be them, the house line is ringing."

"_That's why I called you on this phone, sweetie._" I run to my dresser and grab it.

I put the pink flip down onto my bed and press "Talk". Blast, I wish we had Caller ID.

"Hello, Granger residence?"

On the other end I just hear crackling and then still silence. Darn, probably just telemarketers, taking too long to connect the call. I pick up the phone again.

"Not them."

"_Aww, well I'm sure they'll call soon, I mean it's nearly 12 so they're bound to have lunch, right?"_

"Yeah," I sigh. "Well, I'll let you know if they call…"

"_Ditto! They're fine, love, don't worry. Also, you've gotta tell me what happens today with your man, okay? Is he there yet perchance?"_

"Andrea!" I giggle, "He's _not_ my 'man'."

"_Oh come off it, you had a whole life changing conversation just to talk to me about him and how you feel, you want his babies!"_

"_No I don't!" _I reply appalled, laughing uncontrollably now.

"_Yes you do! You want blonde, Armani wearing bouncy little –"_

I feel a rap on my bedroom window and jump a foot in the air. I swivel around, Andrea now singing a juvenile song, to see Errol!

"Andrea, sorry, you'll have to hold on again, there's an owl for me at the window."

"_A what?"_

"A letter," I correct myself. "You know, wizarding mail!"

"_Oh my god, really? At your window? You sure you aren't just making out with Dra-"_

"NO!_" _I shake my head and open the latch to let the old bird inside, Crookshanks pouncing into the room to mew at him, probably out of recognition.

"Hi, Errol, safe flight?" He has _two _letters attached to his leg. One from Ginny, and I think one from Harry based on the handwriting. I pull the string and set them down on the desk for later, and go to pick up the phone to tell Andrea I need to get the poor guy some water.

_RING RING RING._

Oh for heaven's sake.

Andrea can wait.

"Hello?"

"*CRACKLE* _Hermione, sweetheart is that you?_" Mum!

"Mum! Yes, yes, did you just call?"

"_Yes! Oh this line is _horrible. _This town is very small, the phone lines were shot down by a storm last night, knew I should've brought my cell, but alas! We've had a wonderful time so far, met lots of people. We borrowed this lady from Worcestershire's phone! Isn't that so nice of her?" _Relief spreads through me and I chuckle at mum.

"Yes, very nice. I'm glad you're okay, I was getting worried. I'm talking to Andrea so I'll let her know you're fine!"

"_Oh thank you dear, that's wonderful, tell her thanks so much! And don't you worry about us, Dad's finally calmed down about having a boy in the house," _she laughs_. "We probably should go soon, though - Darrell say hello!" _I hear a slight tussling._ "Hello Hermione, dear! How are, hey! - Okay, that's enough, don't want to rack up the phone bill," _I can hear dad harrumph in the background. "_Just wanted to check in, lunch is just starting so we're going to see Betty and Davis, remember them? From when you were little? Oh probably not, anyways small world huh! Love you, luv! Good bye! *CLICK*"_

They are utterly ridiculous.

I pick up the flip once more, "Sorry! Parents just called."

"_Oh, lovely! They got in okay?"_

"Yes, fine, they said the phone line's suck out there. Um, sorry about this but you may have to hang on again. I'm going to get Errol, Ron's owl, some water. So I might sound a little distant for a second." I continue to talk as I wander down to the main floor.

"_Oh, it's Ron's owl? Is the letter from him?"_

"No, from Ginny. And Harry, I think. Ron probably doesn't want to cross the line."

"_No I would imagine not. Sigh, you're so lucky you have men after you!"_

"Oh, it's really not all it's cracked up to be," I say seriously. Ugh.

"_Liar! Three guys, one smoking hot chick, who will she choose? Dun dun dunnnnn, hahahaha."_

I roll my eyes as I pour water in a cup from the sink and balance the phone between my shoulder and ear, then walk to bring it back upstairs.

I'm halfway up the steps when the doorbell rings.

"Oh, what now," I say. "Andrea someone's at the door. It's probably Malfoy."

"_Probably! Do you look good? Does he look hot?"_

"_I don't know_!" I reply, my heart pumping into overdrive. " I need to give Errol his water. But I don't want to be rude, keep him waiting. Ah."

"_Don't panic! Maybe I'd better go then, stop being a distraction, call me later? Tell me about your boy toy! Tell me what he's wearing, NO! Text me! Oh my god, yes, genius. Please! Please, please, please!"_

I sigh. "As long as I can erase the messages, and you destroy all evidence."

"_Deal._"

_DING DONG._

I hurry down the steps, switching the phone into my left hand, nervous. "Okay, I really have to go, he's getting impatient. Thanks for calling!"

"_Not a problem. Don't be nervous, love! Bye, text me ASAP."_

I close the phone and place it on the table by the stairs. I smooth out my clothes before I open the door, hyperventilating about my appearance, letting the anxiety seep in.

I didn't try so hard today, I really looked different Friday, I went overboard and I want to be more relaxed, more comfortable. So I have on another dress, navy blue, with red buttons. It's quite flowy and it reaches the top of my knees; it's one that Andrea gave me actually. But I have a cream cord belt around my waist to give the illusion I have a bit of a shape, but it's not revealing.

Is that a good thing?

_Too late now, just open the door._

I turn the handle and try to ready myself. But immediately when I see Malfoy, oh god, it's plain I didn't brace myself enough.

Well, he's not wet today.

His hair lacks its usual perfectness, but it works because it goes with his overall fashion choice. He has on a plain white shirt, nice grey trousers and a burgundy leather jacket that screams 'perpetual bad boy' to me. In other words, he's very attractive.

His face looks somewhat tired, red eyes and some black circles, but he's smirking lightly, as always. The kicker in all this is that of course he smells divine. And if I wasn't so afraid of giving myself away, I'd ask what it was he was wearing.

I feel so inadequate next to him all the time, it bothers me _so_ much. Because even though his clothing is nice, he basically looks like crap. But still looks about a thousand times better than I could _ever _hope to achieve.

"Hi," I say, my voice strangled.

"Uh,_ Hi." _He's holding his bag and slouching slightly, looking just as uneasy as I feel.

"Going to let me in or?" he says with a nervous chuckle, smirking wider now, and I realize I'm mesmerized. With my stupid gawky hands holding the door and frame, blocking him.

"Of course," I say, trying to be delicate as I move out of the way, and guiding him inside.

I notice the water cup again, suddenly realizing Errol is still in my room. _Crap._

"Make yourself at home, I need to just go do something, quickly. Will only be a moment!"

"Alright…"

I scramble to the kitchen and grab the water before he can get another word in, hurrying up past him to my room, and closing the door.

He probably thinks I'm mad. I probably _am _mad_._

WHY am I such a nervous wreck? What happened to steely-faced Hermione?

"Here you go sweetheart, drink up!" I say, shoving the water on the table, trying to hurry the owl a bit, and trying to find some food for him. No spare mice around obviously, hmm.

Errol slurps gratefully at the water, but I have _nothing _else except cat treats.

"Errol, I have _nothing _to eat for you," I say frustrated, shaking my hands while frantically searching for _something._ He hoots sadly. _Aww!_

"Um, maybe, maybe…do you want cat treats?" Shaking his head.

"Okay, no….uhm if you want to hunt in the garden that's okay? I know it's midday but…" He hoots annoyed, pecking the window; it would seem he's holding great displeasure towards me and wants to leave. I feel _really_ bad.

And then, like a lightning strike to my brain, I realize I'm a _witch. _For heaven's sake.

I grab the cat treats and my wand from the desk.

"Noctua Replensio," I incant, and miraculously the little dry squares inside the bag transform into pellets for bird consumption.

Thank god. I shove them in his face, while he hoots his thanks happily and I open the window. He puts his foot out for a letter and I realize that I'm an idiot and he needs something to take back.

Why does Malfoy have to be punctual? Why do I keep asking myself stupid questions!

I rip open Ginny's letter, Harry's is obviously more important but I can't deal with it right now, and sit at my desk, reading as quickly as I can.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Hi! How are you? I'm delivering this Sunday, hopefully Errol doesn't take too long though he can be a menace sometimes. Just checking in, it's only been a few days but Ron's been driving me absolutely insane. Really misses your company, he says. Afraid Malfoy'll 'make a move'. Harry is sending you a letter too, I don't know why, but sometimes I just don't care to ask questions. Just wanted to make sure you're well._

_Also, hoping Malfoy isn't a git, and that you're being fabulous as always! If there's a problem, I'll make someone Apparate me over to your house immediately as the letter gets here and kick some butt. Miss you! If anything exciting happens, I want to know that too!_

_Ginny xxoo_

_PS: I didn't realize how much I like having you over here until you _aren't_, the two BFF's here can get quite buddy buddy and annoying, maybe you can visit? Wishful thinking, don't feel guilty if you can't, ciao!_

She misses me? Oh, that's so sweet! I miss her too. And I find I _do _miss Ron.

I miss Harry.

They ground me, I'm so crazy without them. But I _am_ here for a _r_easo_n_. And god forbid Malfoy does 'make a move', it's none of Ron's business, or anyone's really, of what comes of it.

That being said, I'm kind of dreading reading Harry's letter. I want to get it over with, but I have a feeling it's going to be full of overprotective drivel, and honestly, that it'll be mostly the truth.

Suddenly a bump sounds from the kitchen and I realize Malfoy is unattended in my house, and that reality needs me.

I quickly gather some pink parchment and a nice envelope to make up for my probably poor note, and scrawl;

_Ginny,_

_Everything is A-ok! Malfoy was over, nothing too major, and he wasn't too much of a git actually. He'll be over today which is why this is so quick and short, sorry! Need to prep the house, get my material together! Maybe I can visit soon, we'll see how long this project takes._

_Love always,  
Hermione_

_PS: Give Harry & Ron my regards, tell Harry I'll reply soon, but yours was more important anyways. Oh! Malfoy chose my musical selection for the project, isn't that odd? That was our deal, he comes here and he gets to pick who we write up on. Trying to figure that one out still! Any thoughts?_

I tie up the letter nice, give it to the now happy Errol and just like that, he flies out of the room. Problem solved.

I hate lying to Ginny about Malfoy, or maybe hiding is the operative word. But she'll just freak and tell Harry, bad ideas all around.

"_AUGGH!" _A screech of pure pain resonates from my living room. _Malfoy._

Taking no time to think, I clutch my wand, and soar out of my bedroom, preparing myself for the worst.

A million ideas pop into my mind about what could possibly be hurting him down there, that when I reach the staircase, I forget to grab the handrails.

I am striding down the winding steps so quickly that I lose my balance and skid right on my heels along the last few steps. I reach out to hold something, _anything, _dropping my wand in the process and it falls beneath me. I hit the wooden floor and fling forward, rolling my foot over top of my wand, catching my body on the table, and hitting head on the wall behind it because the force was so great.

I groan as I fall onto the ground, feeling the wind knocked out of me, and clutching my stomach, completely embarrassed and in pain.

Through my blurry vision spotted with unknown flashes and colours, I see Malfoy's shocked face and Crookshanks hissing at him. He's leaning against the arm of my couch, my cat's claws piercing his leg, rendering him unable to move.

"Ow."

* * *

I fucking hate cats.

Jesus Christ. This, this _beast _sidles up to me as Granger acts like a loony running up the stairs with some water for unknown reasons. I don't do a single fucking thing to it, it rubs my legs getting cat hair all over it and then decides I'm a burglar or something and starts to hiss at me.

Right now, I don't know what to do . It's set in attack mode, it's back is arced and -

"AUGGH!" It just dug its claws into my bloody leg.

"_Holy shit!," _I growl between my teeth. I try pushing the cat not-so-gently off me, but it snarls at me, a pure evil guttural sound.

_What the hell do I do_?

Noise is thundering from upstairs; what is Granger _doing_?

And then out of nowhere I hear the loud rumble of footsteps, and I see from my view of the top floor that Granger is ambling like a soldier on a mission down the spiraled staircase. Only to lose her footing and stumble, and slam herself _hard, _thumping onto the table.

She tumbles to the floor, holy _fuck_. She's clutching her head, Merlin I hope she didn't concuss herself.

"_Ow._" She croaks. She attempts weakly at lifting herself up, but she resigns immediately and puts her hands over her face.

What do I _do_? I can't bloody move. There's only one horrifying option left.

"Sorry cat," I say.

In a move I know I'll regret, I kick my leg out surprising the freaking lion attached to my limb, and it flies into the air, only to land on its feet.

It hisses once more before it canters out to who knows where, while blood seeps down my leg. I don't worry or even think about it though; I'm too busy rushing over to Granger.

Hobbling is more like it. I bend down and tap her arm.

"Granger, you alive? Merlin, what the hell were you _doing?"_

She groans, and slowly removes her hands from her eyes, then jumps slightly at my proximity. I realize I'm hovering over her so I take a step back.

"Oww," she repeats, and sits up slowly while covering her forehead with her palm. "That's the second time in two weeks I've damaged my head. Probably my _brain," _she whimpers.

I feel an urge to smirk, because her face is red and she's frowning from mortification, and quite honestly vulnerability suits her, makes her more amusing. She always is _so_ serious.

"Well sitting down and cursing it won't make it better," I say, and she gives me such a death glare I can't help but laugh.

"It's _not _funny!" she harrumphs, crossing her arms, her eyes tearing.

"Oh, come now, don't cry, here, up you get." I extend my hand to her and she looks surprised, but grabs it tentatively.

I pull her up slowly, until she's standing in front of me, still clutching my hand.

"You are ok, though?" I ask her, dropping her hand very gradually, not really want to let go at all.

"I- yes, I'm alright." She looks down once more, and tucks strands of hair behind her ears, biting her lip.

"Well let's see." I grab the back of her head with my hands, and she gasps almost inaudibly. Very tenderly, I rub my thumb over her temple. There isn't a bump, it's just slightly red. It'll go away in a little bit.

I release her, and she looks from the floor to my eyes, staring at me like a foreign object.

"Why on earth were you coming down here so quickly?" I ask, feeling awkward that I invaded her personal space.

Her cheeks flush pink, she looks so fucking adorable. I want to eat her up, literally and figuratively.

"I thought you were in trouble…I , well I wanted. You know…to make sure you were okay."

_Really?_

I feel my face fall, guilt penetrating my mind again, physically in my body. I think about what I decided I was going to do when I came here last night. But now is not quite yet right.

So I take a deep breath.

"Well, I am. I'm okay save for a few scratches," I mumble, trying to chuckle heartedly as I nervously rub the back of my head. She's scanning my body for the damage.

I hear her take that sharp intake of breath that sounds almost like a hiss, the one where you see something you think probably hurts like a bitch.

"Oh god, I am _so _sorry. Crookshanks doesn't like strangers," she says, bending down to survey my leg.

Oh no, she can't do that, she can't be on her knees in front of me.

"Gee, really?" I reply sarcastically. "Ah!" I let out a small yelp as she touches a wound to assess the depth of the cut.

"_Sorry. _Here why don't you sit down, I can mend it."

"Um, alright." Slowly, I lower myself to the ground and sit upright with my legs out, my left one the damaged.

She grabs my calve and runs her hands along it, making me feel hot and flush.

"He can be such a vicious little baby sometimes," she notes, exasperated.

"_Little _baby? Monster is more like it," I reply and she scowls.

"He's half-Kneazle, which is why he's so big. He's never been quite so mean before though."

"Lucky me." I mumble, and I immediately regret it when I see the look of frustration appear on Granger's features.

"Look, I'm really sorry, alright! I didn't know or think that he would do anything, and I was flustered when you got here because I just received an owl and I had to deliver it back from where it came and, and now I have another huge headache and you have these horrid cuts, and just–"

"Woah, woah, _woah, _slow down for a second." I cut her off, my eyes wide at her outburst. "Granger, you know I'm not _actually_ angry, right? It was an accident."

Her chest is heaving and she looks at me, still holding me, and tilts her head back, shaking her head.

"Well why are you always so sarcastic, then!"

"I- can't help it," I reply.

"Well, remember that you just don't have a very charitable history with being tolerant to animals. I feel bad he attacked you."

I think of Buckbeak, when she slapped me, and I gulp, guilt flooding my insides again.

"I'm not mad, Granger, really." She heaves a great sigh and doesn't say anything.

After a moment, she breaks the tension and attempts to shift my trousers from my ankle to my knee, but it doesn't quite make it, them being too tight. Damn you, Fassbender.

The wound is stinging, the gash trailing down the front of my shin, and I know it needs to be tended to.

"You're going to have to take those off."

I look at her with my 'you've got to be kidding me' face, but she looks just as uncomfortable as I do, so I roll my eyes and unclasp my belt. She's already seen me naked, fuck it.

As I pull the grey slacks down my waist to my knees, revealing my stupid black boxer-briefs, Granger actually has the guts to grab the left side, helping me glide them off my damaged goods.

I know she's already seen me vulnerable, but – Jesus! Her cold hands skim down my leg and the ghostly touch makes me want to shiver or scream.

"_Vulnera Sanentur," _she says evenly, tracing her wand over the cuts. I recognize the odd sensation, the dull ache and reforming skin, from when Snape did it to my chest a few years ago.

She finishes her handy work and sits back on her legs, pushing her wand into a pocket of her dress.

"Thanks."

"Not at all," she replies to nobody in particular. Then another sigh. "Well, did you want to get to work, or?"

"Sure." I raise myself up, hearing Granger say 'careful', and steady my position. My leg feels like nothing ever happened to it, and with relief I put my pants back on, silently cursing the cat for putting several holes in the fabric.

"Upstairs, perhaps?" she asks, and it's not _really_ a good plan given what happened last time, but I nod.

I gesture for her to go first, and she grabs a little pink device before sauntering _carefully _to her room. As we enter the now familiar premises, I relish in the fact that it's so unlike Pansy's. Pansy's was putrid pink and filled with frivolous _things, _whereas Granger has what she needs and only a little extra.

However, as I think of Pansy, I remember that I have to tell Granger that I lost her iPod, and ponder just how furious she's going to be when she finds out. The guilt ever-present, I suddenly feel hot, and I discard my stupid leather jacket onto her desk chair, and edge to the end of her bed. She waits for me to sit, spins the chair from facing the window towards the middle of the room and seats herself so she's facing me. Our feet are practically touching.

"So," she says as she swivels around in her chair, clutching parchment, "I worked on some answers last night, just the rough copy, the rough ideas. I don't know if you looked at any of the questions?"

I gulp, my palms sweating, and I realize that it's time.

I decided last night after McGonagall's run-in that I would be honest with Granger. That I want to tell her how I feel. Because getting all that shit off my chest yesterday, all that racking guilt? It lifted a weight off of me.

I was told from a young age that I was never to reveal myself, especially my emotions, to strangers, to people unimportant. Basically, that was _anybody_ who couldn't influence me in a good way. But I _want_ Granger to be important. The only thing that scares me is if she'll laugh in my face or worse, think I'm insane.

I'm running out of choices. I don't have her iPod, I left my questions at home in my locked away manor; the only option I have left is to try to explain myself.

"I didn't look at the questions, actually."

"Oh." She scrunches her face, clearly disappointed. "Well that's okay, I suppose. You listened to the music though? I guess it would be difficult for you to _answer_ the questions anyways, considering you weren't familiar with the works. What were your favourite songs, by the way?" she asks, her expression taking a turn to be bright, excited.

"I showed you Undisclosed Desires, which is my all-time favourite, but they have a lot of piano in their music, did you notice?" She keeps on asking me questions, but continues speaking without waiting for an answer. I flush, unbeknownst to her, mustering the courage to open my mouth.

"I know some of Muse's older works are less sophisticated, or less intricate and polished as a classical composer, but surely you liked their 3-part symphony? I was thinking that maybe _those _would be a more suitable thing to present for our project, especially the last section; Redemption. We could incorporate classical music's lasting influence on modern bands and-" Oh god, this is getting to be too much.

"Granger, I ran into McGonagall yesterday," I blurt out.

"Er, what?" she responds, eyebrow in the air. Fuck, wrong thing to start with.

"I was in Diagon Alley, and we – we saw each other, and she – she, we had _coffee," _I tell her hysterically.

"You had _coffee? W_hy? That's more than a bit odd, and how is that relevant to –"

"Well I saw her in Madam Pimpernelle's beauty shop, she assumed I was being mischievous, that I had ignored you, and I told her that I was trying to comply and work with you and all that bullshit that goes with being a good partner. And she also stressed that we _shouldn't_ do a Muggle band, you see, but you were so happy that we were doing this group and –"

"Why were you talking about me!" she becomes rigid, horrified, almost. "And why not a Muggle band, she specifically stated we could study a Muggle band, it's here in the instructions!" her voice is becoming shrill like mine, her knuckles white from gripping the papers she's shaking in my face.

"I know, okay, I know! She said that the class might be cut if we don't impress Ministry officials. They'll be watching our presentation, I suppose that's why it's so heavily graded, but of course she can't freak out the less talented people. She seemed like she wanted it kept hidden. And she said I was a prodigy, _me! _And that you were how you 'normally are', which is excellent, but essentially that's why we were paired."

"What?…Wait, wait, I'm confused now. And why did you offer to have coffee with her?"

"I DIDN'T! She asked _me, _and you can't exactly say no to a teacher, can you?"

"No, of course not, but why? Why _you_? She's _hated _you. Er, no offense," she adds as an afterthought, looking frazzled.

"Merlin knows." BE HONEST. "Okay, so I _do _know." I concede, throwing up my arms.

"Why, then?"

"Calm down, this isn't the Spanish Inquisition!"

She moves her body away from me, taken aback at the harshness in my tone.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I repeat, and it's now she looks _really _confused.

Because when do _I_ ever apologize?

"McGonagall found out that I agreed to go to your house, because she asked about the project, like I said, and she wanted to know more about what we were up to…" I say in a low voice. "That's why we were talking about you."

"Okay…and what did she have to say?"

"Not much about you, only that I should try to convince you to do a more ancient composer," I smirk, and she hmphs. "It was more about me, really."

"About you?" She leans in again and I inhale, finding it increasingly difficult to disclose to her the desires in my heart when she's looking at me straight in the face.

"Well she wanted to make sure I treated you properly…she was simply surprised that I…did."

"And – and why did you?" She whispers it, barely audible.

"I – " I can't say it. I have to, though, I _have _to. "Granger, when I left your house 2 days ago I couldn't go home."

Wrong thing, again. _Dammit, Draco!_

"Why?"

"I couldn't get past the gate." She gives a laugh of disbelief.

"But you live there," she retorts.

"Yes, I do, but I couldn't get in, no idea why. And left stranded in the middle of English countryside, I didn't know where to go."

Merlin, shitshow, here we come!

"What about your friends houses?" she asks naively.

"Friends? You think I still have _friends? _Or ever had some to begin with?"

"What about Theodore Nott?"

"No idea where he lives."

"Well, why didn't you-"

"I wasn't very well going to come back here after what happened." I cut her off and she blushes, but instead of looking embarrassed she looks almost…mad.

"Well why not? It wasn't a big deal, it meant nothing, why would it have mattered?" she asks, looking anywhere but my face.

"_Granger_," I say, and I command her with such attention she snaps her gaze to my lips. "Do you honestly think if it meant nothing, I would've made that clear as soon as I woke up? As soon as my lips were torn away from yours?"

Complete silence fills the room. She is frozen, I am frozen; we're holding our breaths collectively.

"_Wh-what exactly are you saying?_"

"I'm saying…I'm saying that I sat outside for 3 hours listening to your favourite band contemplating what to do with myself. And stupidly, I decided to go to Pansy Parkinson's house and – now hear me out, _please," _I beg, when I see her frown with rage. She crosses her arms but says nothing, letting me continue.

"I did it because I….because I'm….I'm, fuck Granger, I'm horny!" More blushing. "And I thought that seeing her would rehash old memories, that maybe I'd lust after her or something…but while she's changed a little bit, she's still the same girl that only wants security of wealth and status in a relationship. She doesn't want _romance, _or care about feelings. I was _going _to stay the night there, in her stupid pink room, under her stupid pink sheets, lying next to her –"

"Why are you telling me all this?" Granger looks pained. She can't be…_jealous,_ can she?

"Because…because she went out to dinner with Blaise Zabini, and came back drunk, and came back wanting _me_. And wanting me maybe because of partially what we had 2 years ago, but ultimately because the man my mother is marrying is the richest wizard in France. And I realized I am so fucking _sick _of dealing with shallow people. Of being shallow myself."

"Okay?" She's still fucking confused.

"Dammit, Granger, you're supposed to be the brightest witch of the age, can't you fucking understand that what I'm trying to tell you is that I LIKE YOU."

"You – " she can't finish the sentence, but she instead stares at me in amazement.

"I. Like. You. It's why I kissed you, I fucking _dreamt_ about you. It's why I've been nice to you, why I picked your Muse, came to your house, and why for some goddamn reason I'm telling you now even though there isn't a chance in hell you'd want me that way."

"But- but how –"

"I don't know! Maybe because you're smart, you aren't petty or superficial, you –you – you're _pretty _for heaven`s sake, and I used to find you utterly repulsive because I myself was envious of how intelligent you are, and I had my head in the clouds. But I don`t want to be like that anymore. Can't you see that? I could've made the hugest mistake in my life and instead I risked it just for the off chance you'd realize that…I'm. I'm a sucker who doesn't deserve any of your affection, although I want it so badly. I just wanted you to know that whoever you pick to be your significant other is damn lucky, and should realize it."

I can't believe I said it. I fucking did it! I did it!

And yet I can't look at her, my head is in my hands.

Then, suddenly; "Malfoy, you do realize that if I were to even consider you more than a friend, I'd need to get to know you first."

_What? _I separate two fingers to witness her smiling at me. _At _me.

Her light bossy tone is what surprises me the most. "And you'd have to start addressing me as Hermione, not 'Granger'."

I slowly move my hands away from my face, and sit up straighter, eyes widening in disbelief.

"Furthermore, you'd have to apologize to Harry, somehow get into the good books of Ginny and Ron, and be generally good-natured around them even if you hate their guts, because Merlin knows that they'd think I was influenced by a love potion."

"Granger – what are you talking about?" I ask deadpan.

"My dear Malfoy," she begins, her smile widening, "clearly I'm not the only one who is bad at recognizing interest in a person."

"What?"

"Malfoy," she chuckles, a heart-swooping chuckle. And then a giggle.

And then more giggles. She can't stop.

"Are you alright?"

"What are the – ha! - chances!" If this were an illustration, she'd be lying on the ground, howling with happy tears in her eyes.

"_Excuse me? _The chances of what? Why is it so funny?_"_

"What are the chances that we would find each other attractive at the exact same time? It's like a bad romance novel."

Did she just say what I think she said?

"Malfoy – oh my god. This is absolutely mental. I'm not sure how attractive a personality you are- yet. But I find you physically pleasing."

I gulp. "You- you do?"

"Yes," she says and finally she stops laughing, repositioning herself to regain composure. "In fact, when you talk to me with respect and interest, I find you quite charming. I kind of hate it," she admits and I let out a long sigh of relief and laughter I didn't know I was holding in.

"But you do know if we wanted to give – give _us _a try that I'd need to hang out, so to speak, with you more than just doing work. So I could learn some nice things about you. To know you _personally._"

"I understand the conditions." I say.

"It's not a contract!" she says, partially insulted.

"With you, I feel like everything turns out best when laid on the table, in a delicate set of instructions," I tease.

"Well order never hurt anyone," she says defensively.

She really is marvellous.

"And as odd as this is, and as much as I want to further this discussion of our pending relationship," my heart jumps, "we should really be working."

"Fuck the work. Fuck McGonagall right now," I argue.

"_What!"_ I stand up, feeling elated, and boldly grab hold of Granger's hand. She doesn't pull away.

"If you want to know me, then let's do something right now! Let's go eat lunch somewhere. I had to buy new clothes and sleep in the Leaky Cauldron overnight for fuck sake, which is why I'm not such a narcissist this day. We might as well show off the effort I made – which was mostly for you, by the way," she blushes. "I will commit to this notion; I'll see you every single day if I can, I'll – I'll write a written apology to Potter for Christ's sake, if you would kindly give me the opportunity to just talk to you like you aren't my school partner. Like you're more than an old enemy. Much more. I'll put in extra effort to do whatever song you want to perform – I won't sleep so we can do the project properly."

"Malfoy, I –"

"Just right now I'm far too happy that you think I'm good-looking, and I can't just sit here with you having a less than favourable opinion of me when I can try and convince you otherwise, to try and make it work."

I finish,out of breath, and I look at her, hoping I can convince her to go out with me.

"So – you want to go on a _date_?"

"Yes. Do you think that's too much to ask? If it's too overwhelming I understand I –"

"I think we can make it work," she cuts me off. Then she stands up, and clasps my hand. Immediately she lets go and blushes fiercely once more, fidgeting with where her arms should be.

"You want to go right now?" she questions, and I nod. She fiddles for a moment, contemplating procrastination, then looks up and asks "Where to?"

"I know a place," I reply smoothly.

"How mysterious," she teases. I roll my eyes as I watch her going over to grab a beaded bag and stuffing a letter into it, as well as that pink device.

"Sorry, isn't that what all the lads do? Try to sound impressing and indifferent?"

"And you think that'd work on _me_ of all people?"

"No, you're quite right. It's still a surprise, though." She splits out a grin once more.

I reach out my hand, and tentatively, she grabs it again, and as I pull her to me, I realize besides the kiss that we've never been closer.

"Nothing too fancy I hope?" she asks, looking down at herself.

"You look fine. More than fine, actually." More grinning, and she even sidles closer to me, getting ready for the squeeze.

"By the way, do you have my iPod?"

"Oh, Granger, it's a long story," I say as I concentrate into the air. And we Apparate together out of her bedroom and into the nothingness.

We end up mere seconds later outside my favourite restaurant, with the most engaging woman I've had the pleasure of being entangled with. And I couldn't be more happy.


	29. Try The Wine

_**When you smile, I melt inside.**_  
_**I'm not worthy for a minute of your time.**_  
_**I really wish it was only me and you,**_  
_**I'm jealous of everybody in the room.**_  
_**Please don't look at me with those eyes,**_  
_**Please don't hint that you're capable of lies.**_  
_**I dread the thought of our very first kiss,**_  
_**A target that i'm probably gonna miss**_

_**Let's go,don't wait, this night's almost over.**_  
_**Honest, let's make this night last forever.**_

**- First Date, Blink-182**

* * *

He _likes _me!

He likes me, he likes me, he likes _me!_

The most mind-boggling part is that he actually had the guts to tell me.

I can't believe he wants to try to get on the good side of Harry. I just _can't believe any of this_.

This isn't some sick game he's playing, it all makes sense now. Well, not all of it. How he thinks I'm attractive, I have no idea.

But he hasn't been horrible to me, he's been charming really, accommodating. I should've realized that as soon as he jinxed Ron….something was going on. He called me hot, and he's been staring at me in an unnerving way for a few weeks now, but I guess I was in denial.

Clearly he's different, but this is all just so odd.

Though, I'm admittedly so _so _excited about _finally _talking to him like a human being, not like an enemy or a guarded acquaintance. It was quite adorable, really, that he was willing to go to such lengths to just to get me out of the house right this instance. I must say I'm really impressed.

We're standing outside a restaurant, in an undisclosed location for the moment. It's French, facing the waterfront. Trees surround the terrace, and the general atmosphere is beautiful. It's called _Cerisier._

While I was told I look 'more than fine', this place looks rather fancy, and I feel inadequately underdressed for such a location.

To get my mind off of it, I want to ask my date a question. But at the moment we're at the entrance.

"Thank you," I say as Malfoy opens the door for me.

"You're welcome," he smiles, and leads me into the main _chambre._

"Soooo, where's my iPod?" I nudge him, as we enter the threshold of a beautiful room.

Mosaic floors, chandeliers, posh minimalist furniture with antique cutlery. Everyone in here looks polished, glamorous. Oh, goodness.

"Shh, I'll tell you once we sit down," he puts a finger to his lip and approaches the maître d', a proper, thin man, who looks a little skeptical at us, me in my day-dress with no makeup, and he in his t-shirt and trousers.

I try to look as confident as Malfoy does as I follow him up to the podium.

"_Bonjour, _bienvenue à Cerisier, avez-vous une réservation?"

Lord, this is a legitimately French restaurant, where _are _we?

"Non, mais ma famille a l'habitude de venir ici assez souvent, ne te souviens-tu me, Maurice? Sûrement, vous pouvez obtenir une table pour deux pour une Malfoy?"

My heart is aflutter as he speaks flawless French to our host; I used to be quite proficient in speaking the language, but Hogwarts doesn't really expand on more cultural education, does it? I've forgotten a fair bit of it from primary school.

A look of recognition dawns on 'Maurice', and he waves his hand in surprise. "Ah mon dieu, monsieur Draco! Vous regardez si différente de la dernière fois que je t'ai vu. Je verrai ce que je peux faire pour vous. Un moment, s'il vous plait."

He stalks away over to what looks like the kitchen, while Malfoy merely smirks at me, pleased.

"What, you think because the host knows you, and you got an immediate reservation for us in a fancy restaurant, I should be falling at your feet?"

He rolls his eyes but smiles, an _actual _smile. "Could you understand what we were saying Granger? I'm impressed."

"Oui, un petit peu. Tu parlez francais tres bien," I reply blushing, feeling self-conscious of my accent and if the words I used are right. He merely raises an eyebrow, smiling wider, and looks me up and down.

"What?" I ask, feeling redder as his gaze keeps on, turning away shyly from him. "Did I say that incorrectly?"

"You're very charming when you're embarrassed," he replies.

"I hate feeling inadequate," I admit, shaking my hands in the air. He comes over to me, tenderly grabbing my hand. "Did I say it properly, though?"

"No, actually," he says, grinning the widest it's been so far, rubbing a thumb over my palm.

WHAT?  
"Really?" I ask, feeling stupid, so _stupid._

He chuckles, "It's not a big deal, mademoiselle, you're just supposed to put the _tres bien _before _francais; _Tu parlez tres bien francais. It's not 'You speak french very well," but 'You speak good french', really."

"Oh," I reply deflated. How could I not remember this? "Where are we anyw-"

"Si vous voulez bien me suivre, un siège de la fenêtre? Est-ce adapté, Draco?"

Maurice has come back unnoticed by me, to direct us to a seat by the window. Well, at least I remember what a _fenetre _is_._

"Oui, tres joli, Maurice."

Maurice guides us all the way to the back of the restaurant, sitting us by the big bay window facing a river. The rest of the patrons stealing glances at us, the intruding teenagers.

"L'aperitifs au jourd'hui, monsieur et mademoiselle?" He looks down at us expectantly, and I must confess I can't remember if 'aperitif' is actually an appetizer or something different.

Malfoy looks at me from across the candlelit tabletop and tries to read my confused expression. Then he shakes his head.

"Je pense que non," he laughs. "Mais, nous aurons la meilleur vin que vous avez avoir maintenant, sil vous plait."

Maurice nods, and stalks off again, not before whispering something in Malfoy's ear.

"What did he say to you?" I ask.

"He was just saying that he was going to inform the chef of my presence. I expect we'll be getting _une_ _amuse-bouche _momentarily," he elaborates, smiling.

"Une amuse-bouche?"

"It's sort of like an appetizer, but very small, bite-size. It's supposed to give you a taste of what the chef is like. The chef will send one out if they're in the mood. French people take their food very seriously," he nods.

"Wow, that's interesting, I didn't know that. I've been to France once before when I was 12 during summer holidays, but I was too excited to go to the museums to sit for a five hour dinner," I confess. "My parents also thought it was a bit of a waste of money. " I smile guiltily and he laughs.

"Why do they like you so much here, anyways?" I feel a bit weird sitting across from Malfoy, in such an intimate place.

"Well, if you _must_ know, before it was all the rage to have a house-elf cook your food, my great-grandmother insisted on having a top of the line chef wine and dine the family, and guests. A_real _French one. It so happens that the chefs son is now the head at this particular establishment. The Malfoy's used to come here all the time, it's my favourite restaurant, before all the nonsense starting happening. Haven't been here in a year, which is why he didn't recognize us, but I usually can get a table right away," he shrugs.

He took me to his favourite restaurant? _Aw._

Suddenly his eyes light up, flickering to mine intensely. His voice changes. "You said you've been to France once before?"

I shake my head slowly yes.

"Well I think you should know that –"

"Ah! Ici vous êtes, le plus fin de nos vins de Bordeaux." Maurice has returned with another younger man in waitstaff uniform. Malfoy shakes his head at the interruption but smiles.

The other boy gracefully places two crystal glasses on the table, and from his tray pours a crimson wine expertly into them. "Ceci est votre garçon pour ce soir, Francois, il vous servira aujourd'hui. Plaît, prenez votre temps avec commander."

Maurice claps his hands, Francois bows lightly, and they walk away, leaving the small paper menus in front of us.

This is all so formal, and I can only catch half of what they're saying, damn.

Malfoy slugs back a bit of his drink and gives a bit of an approving noise. I grab the glass tentatively, and realize he's watching me, hands still grasping the bottom of his wine. Hm.

"What was it that you were saying before?" I ask. Then, because he's doing his annoying little smirk bit, I take a sip because I figure it's polite. It's far too bitter, but I try my hardest not to make a face.

"Enjoying the wine, Granger?" He asks chuckling, moving his hand to cover mine.

"I'm not that partial to alcohol as you know," I reply, flushing for what seems the millionth time. Good lord, he makes me feel like a foolish schoolgirl.

"Well perhaps you should appreciate the quality, especially since we're in the city that it's made in."

"W-what do you mean by that?" It can't be what I think. _He can't possibly mean…_

"Right now, we are sitting on the Garonne lake in Bourdeaux, France. What I was going to say before…is that now you've been to France twice."

* * *

I relish the look on Granger's face when I drop the bomb. Her mouth just drops and she has frozen to her spot.

I'm glad for once that spontaneity paid off in a good way, I was just so fucking happy to hear that she was willing to even let me take her out today. I hope she finds all this pleasant, and not too overwhelming. I've no idea how to handle this.

When Pansy and I were an item, Pansy was the director and I merely followed.

"W-why would you take me here?" The shrill sound in her tone takes me off guard. Maybe I thought too soon.

Instead of smiling, I find her looking troubled.

"I thought it would be a nice thing to do…I'm sorry if it upset you." I retract my hand, and sit uncomfortably as she chews on her lip, staring down at the tablecloth. You try to do something nice…

An intake of breath. "I'm sorry, this is really rude of me. I just…this is all so crazy. I mean, how did you manage to Apparate here? Have you done it before? And it's just such an intimate place, your _favourite _restaurant. This was supposed to be a sort of, getting to know each other date. And here we sit in a different country of all things. And it's wonderful, it's new, and excited. But…It's a bit overwhelming?" she tries.

Oh god, I'm such a fool.

"Er…yeah. Well, I haven't actually Apparated here alone, usually I use Floo Powder. But…I was so elated, somehow I knew it would work." How fucking irresponsible was that? "_Wow, I feel like such an idiot_," I mumble. Fumbling with my menu, I place it in front of my face to look at the choices, just as a distraction.

Then suddenly, I feel her warm fingers grabbing the hand clutched to the paper and pull my attention physically back to her. I look at her and she's gazing at me intensely.

"Malfoy…" she begins gently. "_Draco."_

For some reason when she says my name, I feel dramatically settled. She says it with such conviction, such sincerity, I find myself sitting straighter.

"Don't – don't feel like an idiot. It's just…" she swallows. "It's the most generous thing that anybody outside my family has done for me. That _any_ boy has done for me…"

"_Really?" _I'm stunned.

"Yes. And because, because it's _you, _because this is whole development is so sudden, it's so…it's so…."

"Unsettling?"

She lets out a breath while she laughs. "I guess you could say that.

"But trust me when I say that I will _never _forget it. And now we can pretend this never happened, and um, figure out what we want to eat, oui?" She drops my hand and takes another swig of the wine quickly, slamming it back on the table.

"Well – I'm glad. I just. Fuck I don't know what I'm doing. I just want, and I _hope_ you enjoy this…._Hermione." _The name falls from my lips, and it's as if I'm speaking a foreign language.

A gasp.  
And she's gaping at me again.

"_What?" _What's wrong with her?

"You finally said it." She's practically whispering.

"Hey! It's not as if I've _never _said it before." I lightly hit her hand.

"I can't believe you SAID IT. _I've _never heard you say it! I can't believe it." I can see her pretty teeth again, her widened eyes, and feel at ease once again. It's disconcerting that just a glance can do that to me. But I ain't worried.

"Well you get to hear it a lot more now." The smile widens at me and I feel like flying.

Suddenly a plate of various cheeses and olives on some kind of crackers are placed in the middle of our table. By some sudden miracle, my stomach rumbles from hunger.

This fucking order of events is a godsend. Maybe I should pray more.

"Prêt à l'ordre?" Francois asks us.

Shit. Haven't even looked at the menu to be honest, though I know what I want already.

Granger - Fuck, I mean Hermione, (god, that's so weird) probably doesn't even have a clue what kind of food an upscale-ish place would have.

"Oui, je veux. Mais milday, je crois, n'est pas." I turn to Hermione. "I know what I want, but I can wait, order at the same time as you. If you'd like." She surveys me for a second.

"You know what? Since we're in the spirit of spontaneity, apparently, I'll have the same thing as you."

"A-are you sure? I mean," I lean in closer, "_it's kind of fancy, snotty food._ I'm not sure if you'll like it?_"_

"I'm up for the challenge," she retorts with an equally challenging look. I raise my eyebrows and nod. Well, alright then.

"La salad nicoise pour l'entrée, et carré d'agneau a la Provençale pour la main. Pour nous deux," I say, pointing at Hermione and myself. Granger looks as if she's trying to figure out what I ordered, but I see that she resigns and shrugs after a solid minute.

"Tres bon," he replies, and gathers the menus, ready to walk away.

"Merci," she calls after him with a pinpoint inflection, and he turns back and grins at her. And it isn't that polite.

Hmph. I cross my arms jealously.

"It's nice to be well, _nice_, you know," she says sheepishly as she sees my mangled expression.

"I know but…he was giving you the _eye."_ I grab a cheese croquette from the miniscule plate and slug back my wine with it, leaning back in my chair.

She tentatively grabs some cheese and nibbles it, smiling impishly. "I do believe you're jealous, Draco Malfoy."

"Well, I don't want some swanky, stupid, fancy French waiter trying to make subtle moves on my date."

"Now, now. No need to get malicious. Behave." Behave? Since she's speaking to me like a pet, I sit up a bit straighter and exaggerate my frown, giving her puppy dog eyes.

Then I start to whimper, and hit the table with my hands, like a begging dog.

"Stop that," she says giggling. She puts a hand to her mouth to stop herself from shaking.

"But you're being so mean," I retort like a child.

I start to take this further and scratch at my ears, sticking my tongue out panting.

"_Draco!" _she screeches outraged, but she can't stop herself from laughing. I notice some pompous middle aged couples around us looking horrified at our table's behaviour, but I don't give a fuck.

I start licking my 'paws' and then, in a daring idiocy the world has never known, I grab Hermione's hand and start pecking up her arm (instead of slobbering all over her). I almost reach her elbow and give her one final smooch.

She looks embarrassed, is blushing, and is glancing at the people in the restaurant and clears her throat, trying to ignore the glares. "You are utterly _ridiculous_."

"But you like it," I tease.

"May-be," she replies. "Now, remembering the intent of this date, did you want to say, talk about yourself? So I get to know you better. "

I roll my eyes. "Oh, sweetheart, always so by-the-book. Of _course _I'd like to talk about myself, I live to talk about myself, but no. I'd rather hear about you." God, is that wine hitting me already? I look at my glass, and it's empty. Well, shit.

"I don't really know where to start…and I want to hear the intimate details of your life too. The Real Draco Malfoy Story," she says dramatically, and chuckles.

"Perhaps that's not the best place to start. I mean, we _think _we know each other. We probably don't. And you only think I'm physically attractive anyways, so maybe the little things I like will charm you?"

"God, that sounds awful," she says, grabbing my palm for what feels like the 10th time. "I'm so sorry I said that to you."

"No, no, it was _honest_. I haven't really done anything redeeming to earn your liking. Besides picking Muse of course."

"Well that's the best place to start – hold on" Suddenly she jumps a bit and her eyes are bright.

"What? What is it?"

"Oh my god, I just had a semi-brilliant idea."

"Lay this quasi epiphany on me." She gives me a look. I show her my tongue again.

"Well, you lunatic, at camp we used to play a game called Q & A."

"At camp?" She rolls her eyes like a pro.

"Honestly, we really need to get you educated about Muggles."

"Hey!" I reply defensively, self-consciously.

"Camp is a place children go to spend time with other kids, usually during summer time – Summer Camp. You can go for anything, really. Music, drawing, writing, sports, or just a general one, which is what I went to. It was in Devon, on a nice lake, with lots of trees and woodsy cabins and everything, and I went until I was 15."

I snicker, because _15, _because _cabins; _but I try to hide it.

"Oh, shut up. It was really fun, okay. I just grew out of it. Anyways, there were activity days at the start where we would get to know each other. Once you reached a certain age, you'd get different, more mature activities. And one of those exercises was Q & A. It's a game with a few people, usually 3, and the aim was to ask each other questions."

"Sounds riveting," I reply. Death look again.

"The _catch," _she says ignoring me, "was that any question _you _ask you _also_ had to respond to. It was a good way to get to know people on a general level, because who's going to ask questions like 'how far have _you _gone?', unless you're a cheeky 14 year old…anyways. We should play that."

"You want to play that with _me_?"

"Yes. I'm eating your lamb shank lunch, when I've never had sheep before. You can take that challenge, can't you?"

Oh, she _did_ understand what I ordered, what a clever petit mouchon. "Oh, I never said it was a problem, Granger. You probably don't realize what you've got yourself into, however."

"Try me," she says.

Oh, it's _on._

* * *

This is so _odd. _I really enjoy having stupid banter with Malfoy, because he keeps it light.

Maybe he's trying on purpose, but he's being so sweet.

When I do this with anyone else, they think I'm actually serious. They argue, they don't seem to get it.

And here he is, being the most entertainingly irritating person alive, and he's brought me somewhere absolutely beautiful, and he's just – god, he's so gorgeous. His authentic laughing and his sarcasm remind me of old days with Ron and Harry.

Days I haven't had in a long while. Harry is Ron's best friend, and as much as he can stick up for me, they're still inseparable, and it's elevated because of Ginny. And I feel like I'm slowly drifting apart from them….and it might be my fault.

I keep hurting Ron, over and over, because of what he did a few months ago, and I don't know why I can't let it go.

But, right now, I need to focus, because _Draco _is being so nice to me. And if he keeps on like this, well I don't even want to think of the consequences, but I quite like him. I wonder if he was always like this.

"Granger? Are you even listening to me?" I snap to attention to realize he was asking me a question.

"Sorry, I was…thinking." I shake my head, as if to clear it, and face him.

"Quite alright," he says looking at me oddly. I grab some cheese and crackers to distract myself.

Before I pop it in my mouth, Draco goes, "Ah, ah, ah!"

I raise a brow.

"Try it with the wine, it's seriously delectable. No doubt it's why the chef chose cheese."

_Sigh. _I take a small bite of the snack and sip the smallest bit of wine to wash it down.

Damn him.

That was absolutely delicious.  
Now I know why Mum always raves about the combination, and always wants to go to stupid wine tastings with Dad, who thinks it's a waste of precious time and money.

"Good?" he smirks.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? You know you can't hide your emotions very well, don't you? Poker face."

I feel red again. "Oh shut up. It _was_ very good, thanks. I just don't want to drink too much, alright?"

"Well that's fine. French girls, I know you aren't French, but for an example, don't drink to get drunk, they drink to enjoy. You're following proper social protocol; I'm just not as classy as all that." He winks at me, and a flush bathes my skin for a moment. "So this game. How do you win?"

"You don't really, _win_ per se. If you refuse to answer a question, you're supposed to tell them an embarrassing story to put more pressure into answering, so."

"Ooh, interesting. We're playing that way! Now, let's go! Let's go! You start, you start. Cheers?" He's so ridiculous.

"_Bon santé?" _I questioningly correct, and he nods. We clink glasses and I take another small sip before thinking of my first query. And then I have it.

"So, Draco, first question: What's your favourite colour?"

He was eating the last of the _amuse bouche _and he spits a bit of it up as I ask him this.

"Are you joking?" I shake my head, 'nope'.

"Well I thought you would've known, Granger. A nice forest green of course," he says smiling. Slyhtherin King, indeed.

"And why is that? You can offer a little explanation, you know."

"Because it makes me feel at peace, I don't know. My room is onyx and green, it's like a dark cavern."

"See? Now I know a little something more about you without even trying. That you take comfort in abnormal locations. _My _favourite colour is blue."

"_Hey, _just because _you _don't like the dark doesn't mean I'm abnormal. And why blue? Because you looked dashing in your Yule Ball dress?" Why can he make me turn scarlet at the drop of the pin?

"What, you think I didn't notice? Everyone did." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"No they _didn't."_ I say, more embarrassed. I feel like slapping him.

"You'd be blind not to, you looked so fucking radiant at the reality of being escorted by 'Bulgarian Bon Bon, Viktor Krum'," he exaggerates in an Eastern European accent.

"Okay, enough. Your turn now." He's started to make stupid smooching noises, and I smack his wrist lightly.

"So _touchy._ Come on, he was your first _love."_

"No…he liked _me, _and I was flattered because he was such a gentleman about it, I'll have you know. And it _was _an honour to experience something like that, dancing with a famous person."

His expression suddenly looks semi-impressed. "Hmm, you know, I never realized how much of a man-eater you were."

"_Excuse me!" _How dare he?

"No, no hear me out. Okay. You're the ripe age of 14 – best Quidditch player of the time is attracted to your book-reading, man-averting self. Meanwhile, Weasel-face is basically unable to function around you because you're so intimidating. And when he pisses you off by being an idiot, from what I hear, anyways, you seek revenge by nabbing a 'hottie' from Gryffindor, Cormac McSlaggin'. And now this year, you've got a line-up of guys in a queue."

"No – but – well – ok, when you put it that way…" God, I never realized how weird that is.

"Yes, lovely, you should be aware of just how attractive you are." Oh lord, more blushing. "We're really crap at this game, my god. Okay, kay, on a scale of one to ten, how good-looking do you think you are – and why?"

"Why are you asking me _that?_ Are all your questions going to be like this?" _Why?_

"Perhaps. I told you I don't back down easy. You going to answer it?"

I sigh. "Okay, um, 5. Because I don't think I'm ugly. But I don't think I'm anything special. Now, you."

"_Nothing special? _Oh come on, Granger. Have a bit of confidence." He grabs both my hands, and squeezes them.

"I do. Just not on looks. Now, _you."_

"Good lord, _women. _I'd say 8."

"'Women?' Just because I'm not as cocky as you, Mr. Perfection, doesn't mean I have no self-esteem, I'm just honest with myself."

"Yeah, and I am too. And I _don't _have self esteem. My parents are both exceedingly good looking – everyone from the Malfoy & Black family is above average, at least aesthetically. And I'm just lucky to have genetics like that; silky smooth hair, unique eye colour, and a charming smile," he lays that smile on me, and it's hard to disagree. "But I'm way too thin, and my nose is too big, thanks Dad, so a solid 8."

I start giggling, "You are so ridiculous. How can you say you have no self esteem?"

"Because I said 'good-looking', not overall personality. If it was based on merit, I'd probably rate myself negative 1." He sips his freshly poured wine, and I shake my head.

"All right then, next question; how far have you gone? That's right, it takes two to tango," I say.

"How far have I gone?" He's smirking. "All the way Granger. And honestly, my next question is 'please, could you not indulge me in how far you've gone?'."

"Really? I was so ready, too, you probably would've laughed. You know, I'm just thinking now, you remind me of a character in my favourite book."

"Do I?" he asks. "And who pray tell is he?"

"Dorian Gray in _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, by Oscar Wilde, _very _famous Irish poet. It's a fabulous novel, oh my god. Anyways, Dorian is an exceedingly attractive boy, who doesn't realize it until he is influenced by his painter's acquaintance, to value the vain things in life, pleasure and beauty. Dorian accidentally sells his soul to be forever beautiful, that this portrait of him will wear all his sins, like his body and soul should. He turns into a horrible person, but he always looks innocent and deceives everyone; essentially he goes insane from how horrible he's been and stabs the painting, which kills him."

Draco's looking at me, like _I'm _insane. "And I remind you of _him?"_

"Okay, I realize it's a _stretch. _But he's blonde, rich and charming. And is slowly eroded into being a bad person, then realizes his mistakes."

Blank unapproving look.

"I meant more or less that you remind me of how he is at the beginning of the book; delightfully vain."

When he says nothing, "Look it wasn't supposed to be a bad thing! Clearly, I suck at explanation.``

Still nothing. "Okay…so next question, what's your favourite book? You know mine."

"And you think _I'm_ ridiculous? Lord, Granger." He shakes his heads and makes a spluttering noise. "Clearly it's _The Boy Who Lived: The Real Harry Potter Story."_

"You did _not _read that!" Oh my god, I remember I had a copy of Harry's biography sitting in my bookshelf for the longest time, too embarrassed to read it. Not for me, but for him. So many people insisted he write one, but he just wasn't that interested. Your _whole_life story, your struggles and weaknesses displayed for anyone to read.

The pressure came on so horribly though, with dozens of letters and interviews requested and sent every day that, finally, with careful selection, Harry picked a writer to tell his story. Though many journalists stepped forward for the task, the _Prophet _hadn't been kind to him. And Rita Skeeter was so angled in her bio of Dumbledore, he wasn't convinced she wouldn't subtly do that to him too. So he picked Xenophilius Lovegood, someone who had been kind to him for years, and eager to redeem himself as he felt horrible for slandering him when he was under watch of Death Eaters.

I was very skeptical, obviously. But it was quite honestly a really good book. It's very odd getting into the mind of someone you think you've known half your life.

"Oh, I did. And I won't lie when I say I was a little intrigued by it. I wanted to see A) if I was in it at all, B) if old Lovegood butchered it, and C) if I could get a good laugh. I got no satisfaction, let me tell you. My mother almost killed me when she found that lying about in the house."

"What do you mean, you got _no _satisfaction?"

"Granger, all these years I've hated Potter for being popular, and in Gryffindor, and for rejecting me. Then you add Weasley to the mix, and well, you, before I liked you. And I thought maybe this book would justify any of these feelings I had towards him and his whole deal; they didn't. Not one single bit. After hearing for years rumours about him, mostly bad, I realized none were true, and I just liked pushing his buttons to make him get mad, to feel like I had any effect. But he didn't have a choice really, did he? And I did. And that's why I still fucking loathe him for it. Because I'm an idiot, and he never was. I never really got to him. And it kills me that I have to remember it so in vain, and in idiocy, for the rest of my life."

This sudden change in the tone of our conversation leaves me feeling speechless. He's being so open to me, and it's scary, because I feel obligated to do the same, and I'm not sure if I can.

The pregnant pause is filled thankfully, when two waiters appear to deliver our meals.

"Bon appetit!" they chime, and both Draco and I relay our 'Merci's'.

The presentation of the food is beyond anything I've ever had, and I can't wait to try everything. There's a little salad, salad nicoise. A small portion of meat, with some kind of tomato sauce drizzled along artistically on the plate. Fresh vegetables lightly cooked are around the shank. I've never had lamb, but it smells delicious.

"This looks really good," I say earnestly. He merely nods, grabbing a fork and tapping it against the plate unenthusiastically.

Oh, I hope he's not in a mood now.

Like a flash, I remember something; "You know, you can cross some of your disappointment out of that list; you _are_ in the book."

His face takes a full on transformation from misery into surprise. "_What_? What part?"

"When it talks about Harry first coming to Hogwarts, and how much he really begged and pleaded not to get sorted into Slytherin, it's mostly because of you."

"Are you fucking serious? Pardon my French." I realize I've been glancing at my almost empty wine glass, and when I look up I expect him to be appalled, shocked. But he's _smiling_.

"Uh, yes. Why are you smiling?"

"Because _I'm _the one who made Potter hate Slytherin! Can you imagine if he was sorted there?"

"Conceited, much? He didn't want to go because Ron said that all bad wizards had been sorted there. You just elevated it by being a jackass."

He scoffs, vocally scoffs at me. "Ouch, I'm hurt. Me? A jackass? Wounded."

"You're so dramatic," I say while he puts a hand to his forehead.

"Thinking about all my sinning puts me in a foul demeanour. All well, I'm just glad Potter withheld all that crap about me and Dumbledore in his story. I appreciate that, _hey, _maybe I'll write that in Potter's letter," he cringes.

"You really don't have to write that, you know, but if you could be civilized, I'd appreciate it."

"Darling, if we meet in _this _situation, where we're holding hands, you know, being 'cute' or whatever Potter will not listen to reason. Be prepared for that. Weasley & family will be hostile, and he's going to be on their side. I mean, I know this. I'm trying to ready myself for it. And I fucking _hope, _that everything doesn't get too messed up for you. Because I only have something to gain from this, and you have lots to lose." He looks me straight in the eyes, and they're warm, little pools of mercury.

"I'm glad you're willing to be that understanding, Draco," I reply in a small voice. I'm genuinely touched he's worried that much about my welfare.

"When I want something, I go after it," he says, and the mercury is now changed to heated steel.

"Do you now?"

"I do try, at least. Cheers?" He pours more wine into my glass expertly, and holds his own up to me.

"Cheers," I reply. After I take a sip, I say, "I wish more people were as adamant as you are."

He takes a bite of food and smiles. "So good, just like always. And I don't. Then you'd be here with the Weasel instead of me."

I give him a look as I eat a piece of eggplant, but swoon at the taste. "Look, I know you hate him, but he's very sweet, and loyal. He did try. And this _is _really delicious, thank you."

"You know, I just can't see it. I'm not trying to be an asshole, well maybe a bit, but how could he possibly have fucked up so much that his best friend turned girlfriend wouldn't speak to him? In fact, that's my question, why or how did your last relationship fail. Oh, and for the record my actual favourite book is _Tales of Beedle the Bard."_

He likes _Beedle? _Who would've thought.

"I would've never expected _that_ answer. You seriously want to get into our romantic lives?"

"Well, I am curious about it, so yes. I have no qualms about telling you about Pansy and I."

I suddenly feel like I've lost my appetite. This was supposed to be a fun game, not a torture session.

"What cheek you have! Don't you want to keep it in the past?"

"Well it seems like it's bothering you just from mentioning it. But we don't have to if you don't want to. You need to tell me an embarrassing story now, though." He points his tongue out at me, and I shake my head.

"Okay, fine. Story time then."

"Oh, goody," he says, clapping his hands together. The nerve.

"Let's see. Oh yes, this is a good one. When I was 14, I went out to dinner like a 'grown up' to a restaurant with my old friends from Muggle school. They were in that phase where they wanted to be older than they were, dressing like they were slutty 20 year olds, and such. I felt the need to go along with it because everyone was so giddy. Anyways, I went to my friend Priscilla's house and I borrowed a dress from her, per her request since most of my clothes are 'boring'. We were all really excited because she had become rather popular and invited all the 'cute' boys to this fancy Korean place. So we show up, and there's maybe 20 people in total? It was a big deal! The Grande Event of the Summer. I was nervous, cause I am awful at making conversation with strangers." Draco clears his throat.

"We're having a decent time, aren't we?"

"Okay, well you aren't really a stranger, and you aren't stupid once you tone down cockiness." Before he can respond, I put a hand up. "No, listen. The whole night I tried to act sociable, and I tried not to be the bookworm like I always was, or a know-it-all. And I _thought _I succeeded. The guys all were really friendly, and sometimes even more than that, they were touching my arm, and speaking to me on my own. But what I didn't realize is that it was for a reason. I found out too late, and everybody was too stupid to tell me that the dress I wore had been tucked into my underwear for almost the entire night after visiting the loo. Since we'd kept getting up to visit other tables they'd seen my bright coral pink knickers, oh god. All of them!"

Draco is laughing his little butt off at me.

"That is _awful._ Oh Merlin, that's hilarious." He's practically choking on his lamb, he's trying not to laugh so hard.

"Okay then, if you want to play it like that and then laugh at me? My question for you is: what were you doing on Friday night?" As quick as it came, the tittering ceases.

"Granger. _Hermione. _You seriously do _not _want to know." He's looking at me so seriously, I almost _don't_ want to know. But he deserves a taste of his own medicine.

"Well I'm curious, like you were, so yes. I _do."_

"You little witch. You're brilliant." He takes a deep breath. "Well if you won't tell me about Weasel, I'm certainly not divulging that horrifying night."

"Embarrassing story for you, then. Go on."

"Alright then, I got one from my childhood, this one is good. Nobody knows this, either, so feel lucky."

"Oh, I do. I can't wait for some blackmail." His turn to shake his head.

"Gee, thanks. Okay, so if you think I was a cocky 11 year old, picture me at 5. Precocious, yet polite, well-dressed little trouble-maker. All of the ladies that came to my mother's elaborate brunches and dinners _loved _me. Father often would make remarks about all the different ladies in our lounge with his friends. He was in charge of looking after me, while my mother was playing host. After a while I hated the cigar stench, the brandy scent, and I was bored by their stupid gossip. This one woman, Josephina Lavelle, was this overly pretentious, very overweight woman of about 45."

Oh god, I'm already cringing.

"Anyways, one day at a party, I coerced dear old dad into letting me stay up past my bedtime as long as I behaved. I had overheard him and his friend Moriarty, who was an awfully asshole-ish person, talking about how her weight was equal to her pomp, or something of the sort. So of course, I don't understand that this is a bad thing, because what five year old knows what 'pompous' is? She comes in fashionably late in these grape robes that made her looks like the fruit itself, and me, wanting to see this lady, runs up to her after she's gotten inside, and my parents have come to greet her. So get this, she comes up to me, first, cooing over how 'precious and dapper' I was and, 'Oh, is this last season's style for the youngsters? Tsk tsk.'. My mother never acts anything but calm, so she says nothing, but I go up to her and say matter of fact; 'Father says you're really fat! But it's okay, because you're just as pompous too, isn't that great?'. My god, my Mother almost slapped my father, and he probably would have killed me if I wasn't a minor."

Wow, that one is way worse than mine.

"I actually feel embarrassed _for _you right now. That's so horrible."

"No, it's hilarious!" he says, enthusiastically eating now, smiling at me.

"Quite the charmer as a child, huh? Well…I suppose it's one of those things you laugh at in secret," I admit.

"Oh, I am _good_ at corrupting people, it's already begun!"

"You can try, but you won't succeed," I reply, spooning some lamb in my mouth.

"I told you I like a challenge." He just won't quit. "Are you almost done now? Did you want dessert?"

I look at the plate, and I didn't realize it was practically empty. My stomach, however, is not.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm feeling pretty full."

"Well, remind me to never take you out for French dinner. They have 5 to 6 courses then, and it's rude not to eat any of it." More wine for him.

"I suppose a bit of dessert wouldn't hurt." I give in, because, hey, cakes and pie are always nice.

"Excellent. I hardly ever have an appetite you see, and I crave food still; but it'd be a little stupid if I only ordered something for me."

"It's not exactly like you're bursting with a gut," I tease and he frowns.

"I hate my skeletal-ness. _Mean. _Wah." He slaps my hand playfully and chuckles. "In all seriousness though, Hermione, I – oh, bonjour, Francois."

I jump slightly when I notice him practically hovering over me, and he blushes and straightens up a little.

"Avez-vous apprecie le repas?" he asks, embarrassed.

"Oui, oui, fantastique," Draco replies, trying not to laugh.

"Dessert, peut-etre?"

"Oui, le gateau chocolat?" He questions me, and I nod. Chocolate _anything_ is great.

"Excellent. Cela ne prendra qu'un instant," Francois says, taking our empty dishes.

"Prenez votre temps," Draco calls after, and then to me, "I've never seen such an obviously smitten person before." I turn to look at Francois, who's still eyeing me. Aww, how cute.

"Is that why you told him to take his time? Such jealousy!" I laugh. "What was it that you were saying? 'In all seriousness?'"

"Oh, yes," he says, his attention no longer on the handsome waiter, pointing a finger at me. I pay as close attention as I can, so he knows I'm listening. "I want to explain something to you, about relationships I guess, and I want to tell you about Friday, because I don't want to hide anything. Or have you feel like I am."

_What? _"Draco, you don't need to feel obligated to-'"

"I know I don't have to, but I _do. _And I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, so it's important I tell you, so can you listen?"

"Of course, of course I will." I just need to mentally prepare for what he's going to say.

"Okay, well since we have time before dessert, may as well get it over with. I hope it doesn't offend you or anything, and if it does, well hell, at least we'll have cake." I smile, and settle myself into a more comfortable position.

"The floor's all yours."

He takes a deep breath and cracks his back, rolling his shoulders. "First off, I want to tell you how I felt when I first started dating Pansy. Because you have to know how different it is now. Um, is that alright?"

I nod, trying to hide how awkward I feel, having to hear this.

"When you are a pureblood, and get sorted into Slytherin, well beforehand really, you're conditioned by your parents to keep to yourself. Because everyone is going to hate you, and everyone will judge you before they know you because of who you are and where you are at school. I mean that's what happened with Potter and Weasley. The first interaction I have with them is them laughing at my name and essentially rejecting me; _my name. _Like, it's the most important accessory one has in life, according to Lucius; it displays to the world who you and your family are.  
So here I am, age 11, and of course everyone already knows each other in Slytherin, play dates and all; but we're around each other 24/7 now. And everyone wanted to be my friend because I was the richest, and that's what everyone values. Because money means security and power; this is what I've been taught. And this is all I know. This is why I have Crabbe and Goyle as my flunkies, and I grow to be acquaintances with Blaise and Pansy. But still, there's this unspoken barrier between us of being formal, not getting into deep."

This is so odd; an inside perspective of Malfoy.

"Then all of a sudden, Pansy comes on to me in third year. She's affectionate, worried even, about _me, _And I never have felt that from someone who isn't a family member. I mean, I thought it was fake, but one day she wanted to go for a walk with me, and told me how stressed out she was feeling about school. It was unreal. I spent all these years learning how to build walls, and here she is, showing vulnerability, real emotion, and it's crazy to me. I know it's probably so stupid to you, hearing this, but it's how it was. I didn't know what a real friend was, let alone a girlfriend."

"That's so sad," I say, without thinking.

"Yep, story of my life," he says, and I'm about to apologize, but he winks at me. "Honestly, Granger, I want to say this stuff to you, don't feel sorry for me; it is what it is. So back into the story. I couldn't figure out for the life of me, whether Pansy was sincere in loving me, even though she told me so, too often. Her mother and father always tried to get me aside, tell me that I should propose, that our families would be great. Mind you, we were like, what? 14. Pansy just came on too strong, but she was someone I could confide in, and she let me ya know, have intimacy, and all that jazz."

Oh god, the thought of them is disgusting to me, I hate Pansy with a burning passion.

"And…are you friends now?"

"Psh, no. Not after what happened. What I learned from Pansy, being with her, is that if you treat girls kindly, they'll do what you want, which, before you say anything, I know isn't true for everyone. She has all these pre conceived notions of what she should be ; proud Slytherin pureblood socialite house wife. That's what she thought was desirable, so she went after it. But when I was 16, you know what happened. I was distant, cold, but a part of me wanted to confide in her. I knew I couldn't though, and her constant prodding and cuddling annoyed me at that point. Once she knew what happened to me, what I'd become, she stayed away and I don't blame her. So I hadn't heard from her in a year when I went to her house Friday."

"Why did you go, then?" I'm so confused. _A year?_

"A part of me wanted to see what was left of that whole thing. I told you Granger, I'm," he leans in and whispers to me, "_I'm kind of horny. _I'm sorry, okay. How was I to know I'd actually tell you I think you're attractive after our history? After I kissed you. And I didn't want to go to Diagon Alley or something, because of what people say to my face or near me behind my back. I was sick of that, but my family is all gone now, and I was stuck. Anyways, so I get to the house and at first she's all 'You aren't welcome here, sorry.' I tell her what happened with my mom and her fiancée, her bitch of a mother comes out and once she knows the juicy gossip, I get to go in. Turns out, she tells Pansy I should stay the night and she should try and seduce me again, because that French bastard is the richest wizard in France, sound like someone else I know, right? My mother has expensive taste.  
"God, so she goes out, hands me a key to alcohol galore, is genuinely nice and we chat. And she was going out to dinner with _Blaise,_who I hadn't seen since I last saw her. She was trying to get hitched up with him, but he didn't like her that way really, and neither did she, apparently. She comes home, wasted like I am now, and somehow I am in boxers on her bed. When I came to she'd taken off her dress, lays next to me. And it was oddly familiar, like old times, but _I _felt different_. _I wanted her to know about how I was acting around you, and normally I would've not given a shit, but I'm different, like I said. I wanted to know how she felt about me, and us. She, uh, well she started kissing me, and trying to do more," Inside, my stomach tightens. "It felt nice, I guess, but it wrong; she said she wanted to _marry _me. And it was then I knew she was still the same. She still thought that a relationship was based on how much money we could have to live off of, and what our social standing would be. She just didn't get it. She was _sincere_ and that made it so _sad_, all the more heartbreaking, and I just, I want to know what real companionship is. Is that so bad?"

He finishes it off, baring his romantic experience to me. And I see him in a different light. He's not cold, he's not stupid…he's a sad little boy who's never felt real affection outside of people who are 'supposed' to care. And he's yearning for acceptance. And I want to give that to him.

I don't know what else to say besides, "No, it's not. It's normal."

Luckily, to break the tension, the most delicious looking cake appears in the middle of the table, with two forks.

I grab one and hand one to Draco.

"You are _not_ weird, Draco, you just have a gap in your life that hasn't been filled; you crave social interaction. It's heartbreaking to me that you feel like you've never had someone in your life you really just wants to be your friend. And it's very mature of you to share all that with me, and so, since you have an oddly uncanny grasp on how people work, I want to ask you something now."

"Y-you do? You didn't think that was too much?"

"This whole date has been too much, to be completely honest. If we are able to clear the air, though, then we can be as open as we should be with each other. And I like that. This looks good," I finish, and take a small bite.

"Too much, in a good or bad way?"

"Neither really, it's been interesting, and definitely not horrible. Try the cake," I urge, and he gives me an embarrassed smirk, taking a nibble at it. "Good?" I ask.

"As good as I remember. What did you want to ask me?"

I sigh. "Well it's funny, I didn't want to tell you why Ron and I fell out, like you didn't want to tell me what happened on Friday. Now I'm going to tell you what you wanted. And I want to know about what you think of what happened to my relationship. I've never been able to get a real outside opinion, and I know it might be biased, but try, please? You ready?"

"Oh _god."_ He rolls his eyes, and gives a shocked smile.

"No? Well, too bad. Sit tight, okay?" He nods, and crosses his arms, now he as uncomfortable as I just was. "So, I don't really need to explain my feelings about Ron over the years, since you seem to, and everyone else, have noticed the tension between us. Skip to last year. I knew that going into a relationship with my best friend would be risky. Not as risky as it is right now, with you, mind you,"

"Amen to that," Draco says, and I'm glad I can get a silly remark out of him.

"I knew I had Harry to think about, what would happen if I broke up with Ron, and if I managed to burn that bridge, it would be hard to get it back. And I was right; that's how I'm feeling now. Ginny is Harry's true love, Ron is Harry's best friend; he's always going to be tied to those two it seems, so where does that leave me? I wasn't aware of how real any of this could be when I kissed Ron for the first time, and yes I was the one to do it. But, it felt like it was _meant_ to be. We had so much tension built up over the years; from after the Yule Ball, where he got mad that Viktor took me, to he and Lavender being disgusting together, to being at war with our ill-fated friend. I think deep down we knew our love was on a different level than friendship, we were both too scared."

"Or stubborn," Draco counters. Of course he's right.

"Yeah. It felt like some stupid game. I didn't think he liked me because I thought I was too bossy, too much of a girl next door. He felt inadequate next to Harry, as he told me later, and so we never gave in to each other. But whenever we touched, it was electric, like some forbidden experience. I craved our next physical interaction, and mentally slapped myself whenever I didn't just _go _for the opportunities. During the summer months before we had to leave, we talked every single day, we planned, we were inseparable. We enjoyed our last few days of freedom essentially, and it was just - It just wasn't the right time to get into anything. Which sucked because everything _else_ was in place. Anyways, in the midst of war, when we were working together I kissed him finally. He was concerned for the House Elves in the kitchen; we couldn't force them to fight for us. To me, it meant so much because of how I feel about creature rights. And after that it was like a fairytale. You know? The war was over, and I had to wait to get my parents back, but we spent hours cuddling, and kissing, and not worrying about anything. Still though, a tiny part of my brain was nagging at me. It felt a little odd, you know? This was my best friend for 7 years, and now all of a sudden it's different."

"So the unfamiliarity was what bothered you?"

"Uh – I guess so." Funny, Harry said the opposite was what was wrong.

"You guess? It sounds like you had a good relationship," he says strained. "Why did you and Weasley fizzle out then?"

"I- I just wasn't ready for the physicality of it all, you know. I mean, we'd only been 'official' for about a month, and we hadn't even said those three little words. I _know _I should have just said it, but I think I was just jealous because Lavender and he had done, and I wanted him to tell me he loved me first. Then, one night when Molly and Arthur were out, and our 'babysitter', George, was in a drunken sleep, we were lying in Ron's bed." Draco winces.

"Sorry, is this going to be very detailed? I tried not to be vulgar for your sake." He gives me a pained look, and I sigh.

"I'll try. I'm sorry…okay, so we were kissing, and we had our shirts off, and I wasn't sure if I really wanted it, but heat in the moment and all that, it didn't feel bad. And then he starts getting really intense about it, and I tell him to stop. It sounds stupid, I know, I just didn't want to have sex, or anything close until we said 'I love you'."

"That's not stupid." I look up and he's staring at me intently, patiently.

"Well, I feel like it was. Because I know he did…and he got upset because he had waited for this, and I kept saying no. And I think…I think I wanted to do it deep down, but I was petrified. And Ron has a temper, he's been mothered and mollycoddled his whole life, and he hasn't had much money or anything, but I know Mrs. Weasley made a damn good effort of loving her children and trying her best to give them what they want. So he gets angry, says I'm always waiting for the prefect moment, the right time, that how could I be unsettled about this when I've known him forever, know him inside out? And I told him I was timid because I didn't know what I was doing, wasn't he? Well, he never told me until then, that he and Lavender had done it, at school. And it devastated me, which only infuriated him more. And I said maybe before we do this we should get checked out," I hear Draco hiss, looking at me with wide eyes. "I know it was dumb, but I was angry at him for expecting sex, when he hadn't said he loved me, when he showed that same courtesy to Lavender. I finally told him first, because I couldn't wait any longer. And he couldn't say it back. I told him I loved him because I was going to try and make clear what was bothering me. Then we both just got really mad, lashing out at each other, and I told him we should break it off for now. I don't know, it was _awful_, it doesn't sound like it, but the tension, the change in the air after all this, it was unbearable.  
And I think I realized after not being with Ron for a few weeks, and contemplating it all, I didn't want to be with someone who couldn't wait for me to feel comfortable, to get visibly angry every time he didn't get his way. So here we are; Ron hates me because I went out with Dean and won't go out with him again. And he's going to hate me if all goes well here."

I finish and take a deep breath, shaking out my hands in front of my face.

"So what do you think?"

"Patience," he says, laughing. "That's a lot to take in."

"I know…I'm sorry. Any first impressions?" I'm dying here.

I take a few more bites of cake to let him deliberate it.

"You want me to be brutally honest?"

"Of course," I say, urging him on.

"I feel pretty bad for the Weasel, quite frankly."

"What!" He's looking at me apologetically, and shrugs. "Ok. Well, why? What did I do wrong?"

"What you're doing right now."

_What? What am I doing?!_

"What do you mean?"

"Listen, Hermione, and please don't take offense. But when you're out of your element, per se, you get frenzied. You get anxious, because you aren't in control, you don't know what you're doing. Which I think, is why it took you so long to finally tell Weasley how you felt, and why you were and maybe are so apprehensive about something like sex. Which is perfectly normal, but you take it to a different level. Sex and relationships aren't things you learn in a book or in a class, like you can for charms. If you practice a charm and mess it up, it won't have disastrous mental side effects like a broken relationship does. Well one would hope not anyways. And you know this, and it frightens you, and it's why you get hot headed if Weasley mentions that he's annoyed about it, because you feel inadequate. And your thinking has to be; 'I need to know about this completely, before I even try'. Which is not the way to go about it. You should gauge how people feel and react to it accordingly. It's what I do, and it's why I am so fucking good at sucking up to people. I read them well, and I don't offer my opinion when I can have them wrapped around my finger first. And you are not slimy like me; you're honest. You shouldn't feel ashamed that you don't know how to do something that other people do. You just have hang ups about being seen as ignorant, and it's your weakness that you hate having pointed out to you. Which the Weasel did, and why it set you off so uncomfortably."

Holy moly.

"And you have to look at it from Weasley's point of view," he continues, finishing the cake gracefully when he realizes I'm not attacking him verbally. "There's this amazing girl in his life, and he took so fucking long to realize how valuable and great she is because he was in denial. And then after fucking it up like a moron with stupid puppy-love, bringing another girl in the picture, he has to try and be a man. An adult. And admit that he loves you. And he can't right away since you made the first move, because he doesn't want it to be like when he was with Lavender. She loved him, or so she said, and he kept saying it too because she, well, fucked him. And it sucks that guys minds' work that way, but they do. And maybe he thought you'd see just how much he cares by romancing you, whereas you want to know everything about him instead, and hope he realizes that you're really trying to make an effort by lying in bed with him.

"It's his fault for having such a temper, but when you tell someone you can't be with them because they can't say 'I love you' fast enough, or because they want you so bad that they can barely contain it? That has to sting. Especially after all you'd been through together, and I get it, you were friends, what if you messed it up? But it _is _messed up because of what transpired. And here Weasley probably feels like a dick, but to make matters worse, you're going out with Dean for god knows why, his good friend. You rejected him because he's not mature enough to wait for you to get comfy? Well, I hate to be that person, but sometimes you have to be out of comfort in situations like that. Of _course _having sex for the first time, awkward is going to happen no matter what. He should wait for you to be ready, but you can't expect everyone who cares to wait for you all the time. You're intelligent, and usually it's you leading the way; you like it like this. That's who you are, Hermione, but you have to acknowledge this as a potential flaw, and maybe realize that you can't always be on top, you have to compromise more when you deal with people. If it's grades, you attack them. If it's people, you need to learn to settle."

Oh my god.

I have nothing I could possibly say.

He's _right. _He's so right, he's knocked me down a peg or two, but he's right. Completely.

And all over again I feel bad for Ron, I need to apologize properly, though it won't mean much. I still stand by what I said, that I don't want to be with Ron right now. I crave his companionship.

Because right now, I have really strong attraction to Draco. It's uncanny, and really overwhelming that he could read me like that in 10 minutes. That he _gets _me in a way that Harry or Ron either didn't, or ever had the guts or courtesy to tell me. Because I never realized that I acted like that, quite so viciously. I'm a control freak.

He's looking at me like he wants me to say something, to validate that he didn't hurt my feelings. He plays with his fork, twisting it in between the grooves of his fingers.

"I think…" I begin, unsure of what to say. "I went out with Dean because I wanted to know if it would feel different to be with someone else. And it was, it was nice. It wasn't on the same level as Ron, obviously, but Dean was gracious and kind. And maybe partially to get back at Ron, I won't lie."

"And I fucked that up for you, huh?" he laughs coldly.

"Well, I'm glad you did," I swallow hard, nervous at being bold.

His gaze shoots up to mine and he tilts his head, curious.

"Draco, I've never been able to have conversations like this with anybody before. Most people are too uncomfortable, or want to keep things light. I really like Dean, but again, he's too close to everyone I know. And he fought on our first date, when he should've just stayed out of it. It's frustrating. Though, I will tell you how astonished I am that you're so calm and, and, reasonable. You've done a 360 since last time I even thought about how much I dislike you. You're perceptive, and witty, even considerate considering all the sacrifices you made to get to my house and picking my music. It's just crazy you _like _me, because, it's _you,_ and even though you can clearly see how flawed I am," I laugh. He doesn't.

"I haven't been able to converse heavily, either. And what do you mean, that _I _like you. You're one desirable chick, remember? You're good and I'm evil, I have so many regrets while you have one. You're so strung out on _one _relationship, and I'm strung out on my whole fucking life. But I'm working on it. If I can change my entire opinion of your personality in 2 days, then you are not flawed. You're kind, forgiving as fuck, and I know if I screw up you aren't afraid to put me in my place. Which you probably should have, when I asked you out, but here we are? If you want something different, then here I am, but I can't promise you'll like it."

"Don't promise, just work on it. It's working already." I see him smile embarrassed, and I know this is the moment.

The perfect moment, because I _want _to do it.

I grasp his wrists, and pull him towards me.

"Hermione, what –"

I grab the sides of his head once he's close enough to me, and lean in, to kiss him on the lips. I kiss him neither gently, nor firmly. I kiss him meaningfully, with just enough pressure that he and I can both really feel it, because it's not supposed to be a courtesy, or greeting kiss. It's more than that.

And just as I let go of his face, sliding my hands down his jaw, he roughly snatches my hands in his, and deepens our embrace, kissing me back gently, moving his lips nicely in time with mine. My stomach swoops, and my hands feel hot.

After a few seconds, we break apart, still hunched over the table, still locked together.

"You know, I quite liked that," I say, unable to wipe the grin off my face at his happy expression.

"Me too," he says looking down at the table, smirking. When he glances back up to me, his face changes from elated to horrified in an instant.

"What's wrong?" I realize he's _not _looking at me at all, and I turn around to what he's staring at. He drops his hands off the table quickly, and turns paler than a ghost.

"Oh my god."

Narcissa Malfoy, and what I presume to be her fiancée, are storming over to the table from a fire place, which they obviously just travelled in by Floo. An elderly couple follow them, tentatively, and I realize that that must be the man's parents. Draco's future in-laws.

Mrs. Malfoy reaches us, and Draco gulps.

"_Draco," _Narcissa says mock politely, only to him, shrill, "what are you _doing _here with, _her?"_

Her fiancée comes up to her, and takes her arm, whispering to her what can only be calming words into her ear.

I notice Draco grow stiff from this interaction, and I feel horrible for him, and embarrassed for me that she doesn't want me to be with him.

"You aren't even going to address her, _Hermione_, mother? I`ll have you know, that she's my school partner." Narcissa changes from anxious to angry. "Yes, I lied. Sorry, guess it runs in the family."

Oh, ouch.

She looks hurt. "Surely, I just imagined you two kissing didn't I, in this, _this _restaurant?"

"Oh yes, because I really fucking care about what these people think anymore. Mother, Hermione is my date, and you're interrupting it."

Narcissa's scarlet cheeks turn to white sheet.

"Y-yyou're _date? _But – but – she - why are you being so hostile?" I want to die right now, sink into the floor. I know what she was going to say, that I wasn't a pureblood. It's instilled in her. Or maybe, less pessimistic, that I was in her house last year, that i'm best friends with Harry, and what the hell was he thinking?

"I'm hostile because I sent you an owl on Friday because I was locked out of the house. I still am. Luckily for me, Hermione's parents allowed me to go to their house that day, and I was there today again. I had to deal with going to the Parkinson's and then Diagon Alley to sleep."

"The Leaky Cauldron? Oh darling, I'm so sorry!" she says, suddenly changing her tune. Draco looks surprised, and then "Wait. You went to her home? But doesn't that mean…" she looks horrified at whatever prospect she's thinking of.

"Yes, I went to Muggle London."

She gasps, her eyes loll to the back of the head, and scarily, she faints. Draco quickly stands up, screeching his chair against the marble.

Several people at different tables make a ruckus about her safety, and luckily her future husband has caught her from tumbling to the floor. The staff come rushing over to the scene, and Draco's step-grandparents rush over to help.

Draco looks at me, still sitting and very uneasy, and walks over to grab my hand to gently squeeze it before going over to his Mom.

"_Fuck._"


	30. A Listening Date

_**One of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right**_  
_**I'm tripping on words**_  
_**You've got my head spinning**_  
_**I don't know where to go from here**_

_**'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do**_  
_**Nothing to prove**_  
_**And it's you and me and all other people**_  
_**And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you**_  
**_- You and Me_, Lifehouse**

* * *

The one time I finally get something right, someone comes along to ruin it.

Presently, my mother and I are sitting outside on Cerisier's terrace, alone. Hermione agreed to let me talk to her by my lonesome once she came to, and she is now trying to tough it out inside with freaking Jean-Pierre and my new grandparents.

How horribly awkward is _that_? That girl is a saint.

Someone actually came up to her and had the audacity to ask her about what happened for the _Evening Prophet, _god knows why someone else English is here. She declined a response, and the staff forced him out before snapping a shot, thank god. Can you imagine Potter and Weasley finding out about this via social media?

Why the hell did my mother have to be so melodramatic? _Fainting? _I mean, this is _not _how I wanted to meet my new family, and this is not how I wanted my mother to find out about Granger and I. They've never had a pleasant interaction together before, and I know my mother was rude to Potter, so she's going to remember that.

Just _fucking _fuck. Of course, _of course, _of all the places in France to eat lunch, they had to come from the south of the country to here.

"Are you alright, then?" I ask my mother, insincerely, as she darts a million looks around to see if anyone is watching.

"That was the most embarrassing moment I've ever had in public," she says, folding her hands on the tabletop, fixing her immaculate bun.

"_That? _You fainting? Surely, father's trial was worse," I respond meanly. Right now, I'm too flustered to feel like being polite.

She gives me a look, and I stare right back, stone faced.

"Look, Draco, I am very sorry you were locked out of the manor. My instructions to Peoni were to let nobody foreign into the house, but clearly she waived the bloodline charm that allows any resident, or Malfoy, to enter it. I didn't get your owl, it was coming cross country. There's no need to be overly wicked."

"_Me? _Overly wicked, when you disproved of my date in front of her face? Me? When you lie to me for a year, hide secrets about loving another man that you want to betroth? You didn't let me in to a serious relationship that you were starting. Is that why I haven't been allowed to see Lucius at all? Because he _knew?_ He would've told me, right? I can't even believe you right now. Why are you even here, mother? I thought you were supposed to be gallivanting in Cannes."

She looks at me surprised, obvious hurt in her eyes. And I don't care.

"This is the Malfoy's trademark spot for dinning, darling, obviously you remember that." She begins, no emotion in her voice. "I wanted to show Jean's parents some English hospitality without being too outlandish. So what about you? You are supposed to be at home, or else _studying. _You lied to me about where you were and you could've hurt yourself. I never would've known that you weren't with the Bulstrode's. Draco, I can't apologize anymore for hiding this from you, I just thought you would never accept it, and if I had told you weeks before the ceremony, you wouldn't have much time to try and break it off for me. Jean is already upset he has made such a bad first impression on you. It's a very delicate situation we're in, it's nearly impossible to get things right. And I've never _stopped _you from going to see your father, I didn't think you'd want to because you never asked."

"Of course I want to," I reply angrily. "Just because I'm mad at him, doesn't mean I don't worry."

God, she's acting like such a victim. I did ask her plenty of times!

"Well, we'll go one day soon, then. Perhaps before you go back to Hogwarts. Right now, however, we're in a much bigger predicament. I've been trying for 3 days to accommodate these people, his parents, but they are the most snobbish people I've ever met, and now _this _happened_. _What in the world possessed you to chase after this Granger girl?"

Yes, my father rotting in prison and cheating is far less an important task at hand than who I'm kissing.

I sigh. "I _like _her, mother. She's nice, and she's smart. She isn't snobby, arrogant or vapid like every single other girl I've ever met in this social circle we revolve in."

"But Draco…are you delusional? She was captive in our _home _last year. You always talked about how much you hated her just a few years ago. She's Harry Potter's best friend, who you know has a vendetta against us. She's _not _pureblood. My word, what happened? Do you know what people are going to say?"

"God! Frankly, I don't care." I reply angrily. "Mother, don't you see? You and she are exactly the same! You're both trying to impress people that think they're better than you. You are divorcing dad, and remarrying the richest wizard in France. If _anyone_ finds out about this before you want it to, you're going to look like a gold digger, and you know it. You should be thanking Hermione that she pushed the stupid paparazzi away. If anyone finds out, they're going to victimize her, and say she's too good for me, I guess I'll just have to prove them wrong. Why are you so worried about me starting a relationship with somebody highly valued in the public eye when you have already?"

"A _gold _digger?" She's now clenching her teeth, trying not to get angry with me. "And what is she doing with you? If you think she's too good for you, why doesn't she?"

"Because she's not a bitch, she's willing to give me a chance." She makes a frustrated internal noise.

"And another thing, how would _you_ know if he's the richest wizard in France?"

"News travels fast, I don't want people to talk about us, about you, anymore. I may have accidentally let Paisley Parkinson know about you and he, when I didn't know a thing about him –"

I hear a massive intake of breath.

"WHAT? You _told _that vile woman?"

"What else was I supposed to do faced with being trapped outside my own home? She knew about him where I hadn't a clue, thanks to you! I had just been to Hermione's house, and that was a wild experience in itself, I didn't want to have to go somewhere else once I found out I was locked out. Even though I resorted to going to Diagon freaking Alley..."

"Draco, _manners. _Why did Paisley let you in only to let you out again?_"_

I roll my eyes. "Mother, I was saved by Pansy. Because I explained to her what had happened between you and father, she became interested more than sympathetic. She was _not_ pleased to see me, neither was Paisley, _until _she found out about it. And _then _when I stayed over, she tried to get back together with me, after going on a date to get me to _propose. _Like, _fuck _that! This is why I am so sick of dealing with these people. This is why I like Hermione, mother. Because she doesn't give a damn about how much money we have, and obviously can get over our past discrepincies, so why can't you let it go?"

Narcissa looks as if she's about to explode and I know I've exposed a nerve somewhere. She _is _the fancy girl I just described, she's Pansy; she can't even help it. I know she loves Jean-Pierre because of how she acts around him, he obviously has something going on that I don't see, but she probably wouldn't have said 'yes' to a ring if he hadn't been a millionaire.

"Draco, getting into it with _her_ will be exceptionally difficult. You're going to be rejected by everyone she knows, anyone she's friends with. She's going to make everyone uncomfortable at our parties, because everyone knows her name and who she is. Social gatherings will be a pain for her, which in turn will make her resent us and she'll never be okay with us fully."

"You don't _know _that for sure, though, you're assuming this based on what's happened in the past. Nobody is a Death Eater anymore, mother, nobody has a secret side. And deep down, I know you never took a side, that you hated it. Or you wouldn't have done what you did for me, when you lied to the Dark Lord himself." I choke on those last few words, anticipating the reaction. What have I just said?

Her eyes become saucers of blue, but I stare at her intently, with a knowing look.

"H-how-?" She can't finish. She's breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating.

"Hermione and I got in an argument. Somehow the fact that you asked about my state of health to Potter when he was playing dead, and said yes for the chance to find me, came up. _That_ is why I know." Fuck, how can I hate her and love her at the same time.

Merlin, no, I feel tears.

"I know you're a good person, mother. I know you've suffered through hell and back, but you have to understand that I have too. And it's not that my pain is more important than yours, but you're reverting to what you were like before the times got tough. Don't be that woman. Don't be the woman full of spite before you know people, based on blood or what you read. I'm trying too, it's fucking difficult. If you need a fresh start, lord, move to France. Leave everything behind and become yourself again. And I'm asking you now, please, to just let me be too. It's enough that I'm lamenting the fact that I'm going to have a dad in jail and another man I have to impress with you, that I can't even pick who _I _want to be with like you have done. Sometimes you reach a breaking point, and I don't want to revisit that, and I don't want you there, either."

I resume my gaze into my mother's, and she's crying with dignity; no show, just real tears. I grab her balled up hands, and she looks down at our entwined fingers, then back up at me once more. I continue.

"I know you're worried about me being around Muggles, but I'm fine. The ones I met were exactly the same as you or I, and pleasant. You're going to have to accept at some time or another than I'm not a little boy anymore," I say, and she smiles if only for a moment. "I am my own person, and I can't hold on to the past, I can't afford to. I _can _afford to open my mind a little."

I wait a moment for her reply, she's all choked up, and in between grinning and frowning. "I understand that, Draco," her voice cracks. "I only wish I could keep you forever like that, as my only baby boy. I know it's not a healthy thing." She picks up the napkin keeping the cutlery in place, and dabs her eyes with it.

"You've just grown up so much, and it scares me. I don't know how I raised such a mature young man." I suppress the overwhelming urge to laugh, because Merlin knows I'm anything but. "I just am having such a difficult time trying to rid myself of this constant guilt by allowing myself to do what I please for once. I need to be away from Lucius, for good. But I fear I've hurt him too much, his actions have scorned me, and you, more than I can say. Though that doesn't justify anything. I hate seeing you so upset."

"Well I'm going to be upset for a while, regardless. You have to accept that, and if I know you know it, I'll vent about it to a third party, mother. If you want to keep me angry, then keep me away from Hermione. Talking to her makes me feel the sanest I've been in a long time. You know, I've been eating. And it might be the change in environment too, but I don't feel so depressed all the time."

"Really?" she asks quietly, and I nod. "If you're dead set on trying to woo this girl, I'll – I shall try my best to be kind to her, obliging."

I'm happy to see that my words affect her. A happy Draco means something that's happening is being done right.

"It isn't that I _hate_ her, Draco. You have to comprehend how strange this is though, for me, after who hurt her in the house and why. About our past interactions. I'm not solely out to get her for her bloodline, though it's difficult for me to let it go. I have a feeling she won't take kindly to me. You know adults never stop being afraid of rejection. it's not an easy emotional fear to get rid of."

At the display of weakness from my mother, the fact she can admit she isn't unafraid, one of the strongest people I know, I allow my own wall to crumble a bit, and a tear falls down my face.

"I love you, mother. Please don't forget it, even when I'm cross," I say gentle as possible. She sniffs loudly, and stifles more sobbing by standing up.

"I love you too, Draco." She pauses. "I hate to ruin this heart to heart, but I'm sure everyone inside is as uncomfortable as they were when we came in. How do you suggest we diffuse the situation?"

I push out my chair, as she squeezes my hand; this is her way of trying to make amends. By asking me my opinion.

"Well, we should go in if you're that concerned about face. The patrons will see it was a blip in the radar for you instead of something truly crippling to your social standing if you pretend like nothing's wrong. And Jean's parents will forgive you for having an outburst if you explain yourself. We properly introduce ourselves, Hermione and I can stay for a while, we still have to pay though, and then go on our merry way."

"Payment is not a problem, just put it on the family account. Your 'merry way', is my issue. Where is your merry way? I can use the Floo Network to go to the manor with you and let you in…?"'

"We still have to work on our project, and doubtless she's going to budge on going to the house, but we could Apparate from the Manor, just so we know I can go in." Her expression is still mangled about me getting to downtown London in one piece, but she simply nods, and grabs my arm, looping hers in it, and walks back into the restaurant by my side.

"Just as a side question, darling…what on earth are you wearing?" She's surveying my Muggle-y pants, and boots made from calfskin, not dragon. Oh god.

"Trust me, the full outfit was far worse for your tastes. Mr. Fassbender is crazy, not eccentric."

"From _Twilfit and Tattings_?" she asks incredulously.

"I think he's been hanging out with Muggle fashion designers for too long not to want a test drive, but I was the first pureblood clientele willing to be the test dummy."

"Well it looks good," she says with a strained look on her face.

"Thank, but nice try."

"Okay, fine, it looks sloppy, and you would do better to be wearing a nice tie with a darker dress robe for a date. Girls almost always looks nice, but boys, no. One can never overdo a date."

Ah, classic judgemental Narcissa. She'll be alright.

One more bullet dodged.

* * *

This is a very awkward circumstance to be caught in.

I mean, I'm glad that it isn't something violent or life-threatening, but Draco's new family are sitting whispering in French, staring at me on and off.

Draco is sitting outside talking about god knows what, and his mother probably hates me, or else is dramatically uncomfortable with the aspect of getting to know me because of a) I'm not up to par with the people she hangs out with, or b) because of what has transpired when I was in her presence. I don't particularly like her either, to be quite honest, but I also barely know her.

The furthest interaction we've had is her talking snidely to Ron and Harry, because Malfoy quipped about, well, me. They had drawn wands towards Draco, so I can understand why she would be defensive, but her comments were rather rude. But she was just protecting her baby, and I can't hate her for that.

And thinking about his relationship with his mother, I realize that like them, my parents and I are extremely close too. Narcissa is so concerned about her child, she seems reluctant to let anybody into his life that could hurt him if she can control it because she probably feels a failure about having Voldemort so present in his life, basically due to her husband.

My dad however, is more like Narcissa than my mom. Almost overprotective, I would say. Draco is going to have to work to be accepted in my family, like I'll have to work to get into his. If it comes to that, anyways.

I think it'll be more difficult for our friends to get along, though Draco doesn't seem to have many…I hope this isn't too hard to master, but I imagine this will be 100X harder than NEWT's. I hope I'm up for the challenge.

I see Draco finally, walking with his mother out of the corner of my eye, arm in arm over to the table, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I wish I could talk to Draco about how he feels about this whole situation, but I don't think he's quite ready for that in depth of a conversation.

Draco pulls out a chair and takes a spot next to me. He gives me a little look and squeezes my hand before placing it back in front of him. Narcissa however, who has sat next to her fiancée, has kept a hold of his grasp, while he places a kiss on her cheek and whispers to ask if she's ok _en francais_.

"Gaston, Marie, ceci est mon fils, Draco, et son –ahem – copine, Hermione." Narcissa introduces us to her future in-laws. I notice Draco give a little grunt of disapproval to his mother, and is flushing red, though I don't know why.

"Hermione," she resumes, with a tight smile while addressing me, "this is my fiancée Jean-Pierre Du Pont, and his mother and father, Gaston and Marie. Jean, this is Draco's girlfriend, Hermione Granger."

Oh.

I'm his 'girlfriend'. Did he _tell _her I was, or did she just assume, or?

I look to my left for some confirmation, and Draco slides a palm to his face and shakes his head, 'no' in horror.

"_Mama, c'est notre premiere rendrevue,_" Draco says sharply, in a low voice to his mother, and she looks lightly embarrassed, though not thoroughly affected. I think Draco underestimates my French ability, because I most certainly know that he just told her it was our first 'official' date.

Jean bites his lip, feeling how awkward this is, while I notice Marie whispering furiously to Gaston. Jean decides to make a break in tension:

"I 'ave read much about, you 'Ermione. In ze _Prophet _mostly, and your friend Mistere Potter's book. I am very impressed by your, how you say, legend?"

_What?_

Draco looks just as flabbergasted as me.

"Merci beaucoup," I say, unsure of what else I could add.

"I didn't know you could speak English, Jean-Pierre," Draco says evenly, though his face gives away a flicker of annoyance.

Jean looks at him dead in the eye and _smiles. _"Oui, I do, Draco. Mais, only un petit-peu. My parents are actually a leetle bit more proficient than me at speaking ze language." Once again, Draco is taken aback by the kindness.

I don't think he realizes Jean wants to make an effort to be liked. It's _always _the new parent that has to woo the child, never the other way around. It was a mistake not to have introduced Jean right away, to rush into the relationship. Obviously, Narcissa must have told Jean about the delicate situation they're in, and probably about what Draco has faced. It's not like England is the only place to have heeded the wrath of Voldemort. But still.

"Vraiment?" Narcissa asks. "J'ai n'en aucune idee, Marie. Gaston." She looks almost accusingly at her parents-in-law for not revealing their bilingualism.

Marie, a very grand woman with grey hair and sapphire robes, merely gives a tight, un-amused grin, while her husband, debonair and distinguished in tweed, nods. Jean is a fairly decent looking man, I note, a bit of both genes combined. Thin, Draco's kind of thin; he has a pleasant face, neat brown hair, with a nicely made grey suit on.

"Oh yes, we 'ave learned to _parlais Anglais_," Marie responds snarkily. "Gaston 'as many a business deal in Great Britain. We vacation zere, we also discuss work. But when in Rome, we do as ze Romans do. We are in France, we shall speak en francais." Ooh, frosty woman, isn't she.

"Now, now, Marie. Perhapz 'Ermione does not speak french very well. I alzo, have read your friend 'Arry Potter's book. We 'ave 'eard a great deal about 'im in the past couple years, and our conclusion is that we are impressed by what 'e 'as done," Gaston says. Oh, mon dieu.

"Oui, oui . We thought that it must 'ave been you, we 'ave seen your photographs in ze book, and in numerous paperes. Narcissa, I am glad to zee your zon 'as some good taste. I do not know why we did not meet him when we first met you." The combination of her heavy French accent, and the way she phrases her sentences makes Marie seem a little, well, bitchy. Like a demure kitten; catty yet pretty.

Narcissa takes a deep breath, but says nothing.

"Ainsi, Marie, Hermione et j'ai un projet scolaire. Nous sommes des partenaires. C'était tout simplement trop important pour moi de réellement dépenser mes vacances relaxants," Draco explains our school situation in french, impeccably charming, albeit a bit forced compared to how he was talking to me earlier.

That reminds me, we have a lot of work to do and time is wasting. I still don't know what he did with my iPod. All well, now is not the time.

Marie looks pleasantly surprised at how adept her new grandson is at speaking her language, Gaston too. Jean is unsure of the development, thus far, and I don't know whether or not I should even say anything.

"Tu parlais tres bon francais, jeune home!" Gaston exclaims, and I can't help but give a small smile from Draco and my conversation about how to correctly say that phrase. I look at Draco for a lingering second, and he reads my mind, and returns my grin.

"Ah, you two look at each other like a couple of lovebirds," Gaston continues. We both blush at the same time.

"Yes, it eez nice zat Draco can dizmiss pretty zings like blood and past rivalries, clearly Jean 'ere will be a much bettere influence on ze boy, zan shall we say, 'is past role models. Jean 'as never been bothered with where you 'ave come from or 'ow much money you possess," Marie says, fixing her hair.

I can see balled fists from my date, but he sets his jaw and will not rebut Marie's statement.

"Mama, s'il vous _plait,_" Jean says, getting angry.

"I am merely saying zat Draco 'asn't had very good moral lessons given what 'as 'appened in ze past few years. Clearly, Narcissa 'asn't 'ad a very good 'andle on Draco's well-being up until now. She 'adn't even told him about you, Jean, until a week ago. And 'e 'as been locked out of his own 'ome!"

"Now wait just a minute!"

Everyone turns from Marie to Draco, whose teeth are bared, brows furrowed, fists on the tablecloth. He takes a deep breath to level his anger, and tries to speak evenly.

"It isn't my mother's fault that anything happened negatively in my life. Often, she's been the only person who actually cares about my feelings. It _is _my father's fault for getting involved in something bad from the get-go, and not getting out when he should have. If anything, I'm to blame too, I'm not a saint or anything either." At this, he makes a point of covering his left forearm with his right, and I had up until this point completely forgotten he had the _mark. "_She's just trying to do what she feels is right, nobody's perfect. We _both _are attempting to be better people, and clearly she is a lot happier than ever with Jean, alright, so if you _please, _stop insulting her."

The pregnant pause that follows is unbearable. Draco is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking away from everyone, Jean is unsure of where to look or what to do, while Narcissa has the faintest of smiles on her face, sipping her wine. Marie is trying to seem unfazed, though she's fiddling with her gloves, and Gaston sits with wide eyes and a churlish grin.

"I suppose I 'ave been a bit 'ard on you," Marie says finally after an eternity.

"I know you're just trying to make sure that Jean is making a good decision in marrying me, but I've spent this entire weekend trying to be friendly and accommodating, and I've received nothing in return," Narcissa says, calmly. Coldly.

"Now, Draco and Hermione have prior engagements, I'm afraid. They need to work, right dear?"

"Yes. C'était bien vous rencontrer. Je m'excuse si j'ai offensé que vous, mais j'ai besoin de protéger ma famille, comme vous voulez le faire," Draco stands up and takes out my chair for me, then goes over to shake Gaston and Jeans hands, and kisses Marie's.

"You're going to use the Floo Network?" Draco nods to his mother's question. "Well, I''ll walk you over."

I simply wave at the three uncomfortable people still residing at the table, and say, "Au revoir. Bonne journee."

Draco takes my hand as he strides over to the ornate fireplace by the entrance. He leaves me to stand there, giving me the 'one moment' hand signal, and goes to thank Maurice, conversing in French and laughing, probably apologizing for everything.

Narcissa follows his lead, and touches Maurice's arm, who is evidently charmed immensely by the pair. I wish I could do that, I'd be able to get away with anything! But I suppose the Malfoy's are still a big deal, if they're allowed in here no fuss no muss.

Francois is standing next to the fireplace holding a Floo powder cup. I smile at him and he blushes.

Draco turns away from Maurice, and his cheery grin fades into a frown, and he rolls his eyes. As he reaches me, his mother is talking behind him.

"…so when you come home tonight, everything will be safe for you to enter, okay? I'll just go after lunch to tell Peoni to change who can come past the gate."

"Yes, yes, that's fine," Draco replies, waving her arm away. "I am _so_ sorry," he says to me.

"Don't worry, don't worry," I say gently, taking his hand.

"_Let's get out of here?_" he whispers.

"Please," I reply, and he laughs. Then he turns to mummy.

"Well, bye mother. I'll see you soon?" he inquires to her.

"Yes, I promised a week, but I don't know if I can handle 4 more days after _that_. Now give us a kiss good bye." Draco leans in to kiss her cheek, but Narcissa pulls him in closer, to hug him.

"Oh, _mum." _

"Thank you for standing up for me sweetheart," she murmurs into his ear as she ruffles his fair hair. His stiff gait softens a bit, and he squeezes her back.

"You're welcome."

It's a very adorable moment, I just feel awkward watching it transpire like it's some distant film noir movie. This whole afternoon has been a surreal fairy-tale.

"Bye love," Narcissa says, finally letting him go. He's flushed as he returns to me, embarrassed by the public displays of affection.

"Bye Mum." He nods to Francois as he moves into the fireplace, pulling me along with him. Francois holds out the red pot of powder, and Draco and I each grab a handful.

"Merci, Francois," I say, and he grins nervously, stepping away from us.

"Ready?"

"Yes. Good bye, er, Mrs. Malfoy," I attempt to be polite in our last moments in France.

Narcissa raises her eyebrows and nods.

"Good bye," she replies to nobody in particular, walking away from us and back to the table. Draco looks at me and I just shrug.

He shrugs too, and holds out his palm. "Okay – 1, 2, 3,"

I join him, then in unison we say: "22 Parkhill Drive, Camden."

The green flames engulf us, and a sliding minute later, we're in my living room, slightly dusty.

"Oh my fucking Merlin, that was awful."

* * *

"I am so sorry, so, so, _so _sorry you had to witness _that."_

God, why does my mother insist on associating with these people?

I'm pacing round Granger's kitchen, restless, and angry that those people are my new relatives. Hermione is simply leaning against the couch, letting me vent my frustrations.

"They're just so goddamn pretentious, I mean, how that vile woman could say things about my mother in front of her _face. _While her husband just stood there, acting like she was a precocious toddler rather than a bitch: AGH. Ruined the afternoon for me, probably for you, too."

"Yes, she was a bit catty….but it's alright, you couldn't help it. It wasn't ruined for me, it was just awkward, really. And Jean at least didn't seem too bad…your mother, too," Hermione adds as an afterthought.

I sigh. "Yes I suppose he was rather nice. I hate that."

"_Draco," _she says, lightly chuckling. I look up at her, and she's simply surveying me. It's weird when she isn't so, so, bossy and fussy. It's rather nice, if I'm honest.

I finally settle against the kitchen sink, elbows rested on the edge of it, trying to ponder. "You know, he sort of intervened when Marie went too far, I guess I can't despise him, especially because he was embarrassed by it."

"Well, I thought you handled everything amazingly well given what went on. And you stood up for your mother against somebody you don't even know. I would be so afraid of making a wrong impression especially if it's my, er…future grandma. Sorry, that made it sound bad." I can't help but smirk.

"Well, you're right anyways. She _probablement_ despises _moi_! All well, I don't give two shits."

"You _should_. But I aim to please, rather than, well, so. Opposite viewpoints, anyways, if you don't mind me asking, what were your mother and yourself discussing outside? And where is my iPod, hmm?" She's slowly sidled up close to me, standing at the big white box thing. I can tell by her calculated casualness she's been itching to ask me these questions for a while.

"If you must know, your iPod was left on Pansy Parkinson's floor in a rush to exit the building. I will be buying you a new one as soon as possible. And as for – hey, don't interrupt me," I say, knowing she was about to protest or else inquire further by her open mouth and midair hand. "As for my mother and I, I told her about what you told me….you know with Potter and all. I told her not to judge you for she was being judged by Marie, and now she knows how it feels, it's not so great ain't it? I told her I was unhappy she didn't tell me about Jean sooner and that I, ahem, miss my own father. So I'm going to go see him sometime soon. Should be a fun trip," I finish sarcastically.

Before I even have time to pay attention, Granger's wrapped her arms around my torso; she's _hugging_ me. Against a sink, but still. We've never been closer.

Quickly she realizes what she's doing and softens the grip, but I put my arms around her shoulders and realize I can rest my chin on her head.

"You know, you have a real knack for emanating sympathy," she says. And then, "Does this feel weird to you?"

"Hugging? Oddly, no. I mean, when I stop and think it's freaking Hermione Granger, a bit. But only a little bit."

"Yeah me too. That's why I find it weird, the fact that it _doesn't_ feel weird. We've never been closer, have we?"

I smile into her hair, and rest my head on top of hers. "I was just thinking the same. And no."

She snuggles in closer to me, and I can't catch my breath. I can feel her warm skin from her chest and exposed arms on my body. Her breasts are pushed right above my belly button, and she's in between my legs.

"Feels nice."

"Mm," I murmur, closing my eyes.

"If you ever need to talk about, you know, family stuff, I'm here to listen. You don't have to ask for advice or anything, you can just vent."

I don't think I've ever actually had somebody just 'be there' for me. At this realization, I start to feel intense emotions I do not want. So I take a deep breath and simply squeeze Hermione tighter.

She gives a little audible '_ah', _and I want to stay like this forever.

"You're not buying me a new iPod by the way," she murmurs into my neck.

"I am. When we go out tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she asks, and she pulls away a bit so I can face her. Aw.

"Er…unless you've had enough of me for a bit," I try tactfully.

"No, no, we can, I mean I'm alone here, right? Andrea is working day and night, her next issue deadline is soon. I suppose I should go see Harry and Ron, I'm the only one who can Apparate well between them – by the look on your face, that greatly displeases you."

I notice I'm snarling at the prospect of her seeing Weasley. Potter I don't care, but _he _can't be there.

"They _are_ your friends, I know they," I add grudgingly, "mean a lot to you. I simply am not that partial to you spending time with the Weasel."

"Well, it's sort of inevitable, I'm afraid. Harry or Ron sent me a letter this morning, that's why I had to rush upstairs."

I move my arms loosely to her lower back and push her gently a few inches from me. "Oh, shit. Well what did it say?"

"I don't know," she admits, giving me a nervous smile.

"You don't know?"

"Ginny also sent me one, and I was responding to hers. Harry is at the Burrow too, the Weasley's home, rather. I was a bit of a coward and didn't want to hear what the other one had to say, so I sent back one reply."

"No doubt it'll be chock full of slandering the hideous Draco Malfoy, right?"

"Probably, maybe I should go read it just in case. What time is it anyways? 4:30? Oh that reminds me!"

She lets me go and cranes her neck, on her tiptoes, to scan the clock by her front door. Then she rushes to the staircase and grabs a little pink device, flipping it open, and staring at the screen.

She smiles and looks to be pressing little buttons on it.

I walk over to her, curiosity getting the best of me. "What is that?"

"A cell phone, or telephone," she replies, still in the midst of whatever she's doing. I walk behind her and place my hands on her shoulders, trying to see what she's doing.

"You use it to call people, kind of like a patronus or an owl, but instant. Right now I'm texting Andrea, which is where you type down a message; hey, remember from our computer lesson?" she says with a laugh in her voice. "And you send it to them. Kind of like passing notes, but they receive it on _their _phone wherever they are."

"Ah," I say. "I really am an ignorant sod aren't I?"

"A bit," she says, laughing, returning her phone to its designated spot. "But plenty of wizards have no idea about these things either."

"I guess you'll just have to teach me your ways, senorita," I say, grabbing her hand and twirling her around like we're salsa dancing.

I stop spinning her when she faces me, and she's giggling. She puts a hand to her mouth and grins.

"I guess _so_. In the meantime, is there anything you wanted to actually do today for our project? I'm not trying to be a stick in the mud but we need to get cracking on it. I'm not _horribly _worried about writing about them. You see, I ordered that book on them and it should be available tomorrow, Monday. It's the performance I'm terrified about."

"Well, mademoiselle, when we go out tomorrow, assuming we are, we can stop to get you a new listening device _and_ pick up the book. You'll have to guide the way of course, and I'll make unpleasant commentary along the way about superiority of wizard living, wherein you'll have a Muggle rebuttal ready and probably school me."

"That's very charming and dandy. But it doesn't answer my question," she says, pointing her index onto my nose.

"I'm getting there," I reply, grabbing her finger and kissing the tip. She blushes and I release her hand, smirking. "If you're dead-set on performing that orchestral movement you were talking about earlier, well I need to listen to it first, because I probably heard it but can't remember, but we can start transposing it, I'll just have to go get my piano. We can figure out what key, what arrangement, what tempo, and if there's lyrics, oh god, who will sing them or maybe just leave them out."

"I'm not dead set, but I'd like there to be common interest in the works…Undisclosed Desires has no piano…it doesn't actually say in the instructions that we have to play our assigned instrument, but it would be foolish not to have us playing…" Now she's inner monologue-ing but, out loud.

"We can have a listening date!" she says suddenly.

"A listening _date?"_

"Yes! Why not? We can just listen to the whole discography together, relax? It'll take your mind off things. They have 5 albums, should take a while."

That sounds like a dream.

"Well time is a wasting isn't it? Race you!" I weave around her and climb the staircase semi-fast.

"_Hey! You cheated!_" I hear her scrambling up and I quicken my pace. As I reach the top of the staircase, I'm about to proclaim my victory, but Hermione grabs my _foot. _

'_Oof.'_

I stumble over the top floor landing, my legs still on the steps, Granger laughing mercilessly at her 'clever' scheme. I roll over onto my elbows to look up at her hanging over me and pout.

"That's not very nice, Miss Granger. I could've hurted myself."

She bends down, grasps my shoulders and gives me a big, tender kiss. If I wasn't already lying down, I'd want to be.

"Well I kissed it better, didn't I?" she says, now using _my _smirk, and walks into her room.

"You're not as innocent as you let on, are you?" I tell her, as I make my way into the door and onto her bed.

She walks to her desk, and grabs an unopened letter, along with her laptop thing. She moves to what looks like speakers and uses an odd wire to plug into a slot on her computer. She bends over to asjust something, and I get a nice view, making me feel hot around the collar, and elsewhere.

God, no. Fuck her stupid body, so _normal, _but perfect. Thin, but not too thin, nice ass and tits. Warm smile, cute little freckles, and beautiful eyes. Her unruly hair just makes her that much more endearing, and I have a sudden vision of me grabbing her roughly, ripping off our clothes and fucking her like an animal.

Grr.

But no, I have to wait for her to be ready, be a gentleman, and that's going to take a while, considering we'll be in school with accusing eyes, and slander for a long while before summer. That's probably the most realistic time to get it on, and that's assuming she is ready in 8 or 9 months.

And assuming she doesn't hate me by then.

Suddenly, a chord of a guitar fills the room, and Muse is in the air. As she sits beside me, I watch the curve of her lips quiver with anxiety, as she silently opens her envelope.

"Did you want me to leave for a bit…?"

"No, just. Lay back on the pillows and let the music saturate your senses. This'll only take a moment."

I comply, not responding due to her mechanical, concentrated response, and rest my head on a golden pillowcased cushion, unable to relax. I watch Hermione's posture, very stiff, and notice she's gripping the parchment quite tightly.

She makes a small scoffing noise, and I want to ask why, but refrain.

I can't pay attention to the music, only her.

"It appears," she says maliciously after what feels like hours, though it's been 2 songs, "that Ron and Harry feel the need to check up on me. Tomorrow."

"Check up on you?" What are they? The mafia?

"'_Hermione, Ron is really upset about you having to deal with Malfoy, and I am as well, he's just more vocal about it. I can't force you to come out here, I know you had high hopes for your family this break, but I think Ron's going to explode if he doesn't know anything, and you don't want that wrath to go back to school with us. So we're going to your house on Monday morning, just to see you. I miss you, anyways, I know Ginny does, but your project is more important. She got stuck with Michael Corner, and so I've made him come over here to keep eye on him while they work, you know how I can be. We won't bother you,' _blah blah BLAH!" she yells, making me jump. "How do they even know where to go? They've never _been _here. Why they don't think I can handle myself…_augh._"

She throws the letter in a trash bin, and flings herself back onto the pillows next to me, crossing her arms.

"They're just worried about you, though not asking permission is pretty…well, stupid. They probably think I've been a slimeball. And that I've corrupted you, though I guess I have kind of."

"Because you've been amazing to me? Yeah, real slimeball corrosive slag, you've been." I laugh nervously, she's really upset.

"I'll just leave tonight, and Apparate back here at around 2 pm?"

"No, make it noon, I'll tell them I'm meeting you then whether they like it or not." She turns onto her left side, away from me completely.

Tentatively, I rub her upper arm. "Granger…Hermione, are you okay?"

She heaves a great sigh, but doesn't move. "I'm fine. I'm just not ready to tell them."

"About us?"

"Yeah. I mean what are we, anyways? We went out today for the first time. But it feels so…."

"Feels like we've been secretly dating forever? I know. Because it's a forbidden combo, us together. All I know, Hermione, is that I really like you. And you do not have to tell them anything if you aren't ready, I won't be offended, I know I have been a complacent asshole."

She's turned around at this point and she's shaking her head and gaping. "You think that too? You don't mind? I want to tell them…and you actually freely admit to being a jerk?"

"Yeah, I mean, Potter hasn't been a saint either, but I kind of started it. I don't think we'll ever like each other, but if we can get along it's a start. Weasley is another story, he's gunning for you and I want you while I can, for as long as I can. That's why I'm willing to apologize, raise the flag."

"_Draco." _She puts her hand over mine on her body.

"Look, I don't want to lie to you. I don't really want to be friendly with them, but it's for your sake."

"I know," she sighs. "They'll probably say and do the same."

"Well, try not to worry about it right now. Just play it by ear, and you can tell m what happens when I get here, okay?"

"Okay," she says, and she lies back closing her eyes. I know she's overthinking the pending scenario that's going to take place tomorrow, but she won't speak of it anymore so I won't worry. She's a freaking saint on earth.

Today's been crazy, but I find myself forgetting about everything that happened, and I focus on our group of choice, listening to the instruments and our collective steady breaths, just Hermione and I.

We lay in her bed together for hours on end, and though we barely touch or move, I feel an oddly strained connection pulling me towards her, as if somehow our psyche has merged into one resting soul.

At certain times, the lyrics hit me like a wave, and I find I have dozens of potential songs I'd love to perform. And every time I hear a new song, I dub it as the best so far, until another comes along. The lyrics are what hit me the most, and I don't even know half the songs names.

They all hit home. Like this song;

_Fear and panic in the air, I want to be free of desolation and despair.  
And I feel, like everything I sow, has been swept away, well I refuse to let you go.  
I can't get it right, since I met you.  
Loneliness be over. When will this loneliness be over?_

And then this one, about Granger:

_Everything about you pains my envying, your soul can't hate anything.  
Everything about you is so easy to love, they're watching you from above.  
Give me all that peace and joy in your mind._

Then Hermione comes back after a few minutes with tea and biscuits, telling me its 'the song'.

_Let's start over again, why can't we start it over again__  
__Just let us start it over again__; __And we'll be good__  
__This time we'll get it, get it right__  
__It's our last chance to forgive ourselves__  
_  
God, it's almost like they met me and based their songs off of my experiences, though I suppose many have felt like this before.

All I know is that I'm a weepy child by the end of the night, and Hermione hasn't been tactless enough to say anything, but begins to hold my hand.

She comes in a bit closer to me, as the final song, Hysteria, rounds to a close.

_And I want you now, I want you now; I feel my heart implode.  
And I'm breaking out, escaping now, I feel my faith erode._

"_Draco, please don't cry_," she whispers as the silence overwhelms us, and shadows dance on the wall. It's dark, and the moon and streetlamps tickle the edges of her room, providing enough light for me to see the outline of her worried face. I roll onto my side to look at her, and hold her hands together, wondering if ever I had met a kinder human being.

"You're beautiful," I say, staring straight into her sepia eyes, wherein she contorts her expression.

"T-thank you, but how –"

"I mean you're a beautiful person, Hermione. You make sure I'm okay, and you have chosen to forget my past discretions. You've given me a place to be. And somebody to talk to. And you gave me a chance where nobody else would, and I wouldn't have blamed them."

"_Draco," _she breathes, embarrassed. "I-"

"You have the most mesmerizing eyes, you know?" I reach over and trace my index across an eyebrow before resting it on her cheekbone.

Before she has time to say anything else, I move my hand to grab her waist, pulling her into me, and gently, I part her lips with mine, craving the sensation of a deep kiss. I use the arm I'm lying on to wrap it around her body and run my fingertips through her hair to bring her head closer to mine, which is pleasantly softer than I imagined.

I hear her intake breath sharply, but she doth not protest too much, and mimics my movement, wrapping both her arms instead of one around me, and fiddling with my own golden locks.

I've never felt such intensity in the kisses that follow, and they only serve to turn me on, and force me to get a bit more aggressive. I dart my tongue inside Granger's mouth just slightly, and she suppresses a little moan, but I still hear it. It sends me over the edge. I pull her on top of me, as we've made it to full blown making out now, and I'm getting harder by the minute.

Time itself has ceased to exist, and all I feel is lips, and back and hair. I go to peck her neck, catching a bit of breath, and wrap a leg around her thighs, slowly pushing into her, wanting her as close as possible to me.

"Draco," she pants. "Draco…._Draco."_

She pushes herself off of me gracefully, kneeling in between my spread legs. She's heavily breathing in between stealing glances at my half-hard cock, and I'm breathless, just staring up at the goddess before me.

"Too soon?" I ask, apologetically.

"Too fast," she agrees, going to lie next to me, wrapping my arm around her.

"I'm sorry. I just…you really get me going," I choose to say, and through the dark I can see her blushing.

"So do you," she admits. "That's almost the farthest I've ever been with anyone," she adds, in a small voice.

Oh, shit.

"I forgot, I didn't mean to push you," I say, suddenly exhausted.

"It's okay, if I hadn't wanted it, I'd have pushed you away. It just so happens that you, also, er, get me going."

"Really?" I ask, dragging her closer to me, smiling.

"Yes," she laughs, and suddenly she gets under her blankets leaving me on top of them and returns to snuggling me.

"Did you want me to leave? It must be 11 by now," I say, unable to read the time on Granger's wall clock.

"No, no," she yawns. "We'll get up and I'll walk you to the door. Stay with me for a bit longer?"

Shit well how can I say no?

"Of course, madam."

I move in a bit closer to this lovely lady beside me, absorbing her warmth, and before I know it, I can barely keep my eyes open. An hour or two must have passed since we last spoke.

I should probably get up…

* * *

"DRACO. DRACO! Wake up, wake up, wake, up! They're here, oh Merlin, they're here!'


	31. Hit & Miss

**_In the dark - i__n the darkness you will find;_**  
**_Dirty little secrets we all hide._**  
**_Cause we all have a darker side_**  
**_A place we keep where no one else will find_**

**_Cause everybody wants to hide their secrets away_**  
**_Nobody wants to stand up to the pain_**  
**_But I will; s__tand up to the pain_**  
**_Wake up and fight again_**  
**_If you could d__ance with me through this rain_**  
**_We will fight_, w_e'll fight again  
- Secrets, _Good Charlotte**

* * *

_DING DONG._

_Knock Knock Knock._

Very faintly I can hear commotion going on downstairs. A door knocking, the bell.

But who could it be? Mum and Dad aren't due back until Friday, and Andrea would've told me she was swinging by if –

OH MY GOD.

_Harry._

_Ron!_

"_NO," _I verbalize, shooting straight up, sobering to my surroundings in a flash.

I'm sweating in my heap of blankets, while Draco is curled up on his side, comfortable as a kitten on top of the covers. Memories of the amazing night I had flash back in spurts as I notice the empty tea cups on my bedside table, and the stack of Muse records across the room by my laptop.

Suddenly, a particularly violent knock shakes me from my thoughts, and I scramble out of bed to race to the other side of my floor. Paranoid but with haste, I tear off my panties from yesterday, as I never did change, darting looks at Draco between grabbing a new pair from my wardrobe. I pull my dress over my head, grab an old t-shirt and wriggle on a pair of jeans.

I hate to be the one to disturb my guests' peacefulness, but I am _freaking out._ I run over to Draco and shake him, hard.

He lets out a small moan, but just rolls onto his stomach.  
Oh, good gravy, ""DRACO. DRACO! Wake up, wake up, wake, up! They're here, oh Merlin, they're here!"

I use what minimal strength I have to force him back on his side.

"Mrrgh-" he tries to bat away my hands, but I keep on shaking him until he finally opens his eyes.

He's squinty from the morning grog and rubs his face, very tired. "What time is it?" he asks, yawning.

"I don't know, I don't know! But you have to get up, because _Ron_ and _Harry _are here." He looks at me, suddenly stock still. Then he slowly sits up, trying to keep down his morning erection and squints at the windows, at the sunlight peering in.

"I slept here overnight…" he realizes aloud. "Fuck!" He's looking at me apologetically, scrambling to his feet, eyes now wide open.

"Look, I don't care at the moment! Just – what are we going to do?" I whisper, hyperventilating at the prospect of the conversation I am soon going to have.

Yesterday, everything seemed like a dream; a boy that previously loathed me likes me, who I happen to find attractive; we go on an unfathomable date, and we come home and continue to be in each other's presence; enjoying it without being ill at ease.

And now, due to my poor judgement, and idiocy, I'll be stuck in the same place with 3 people who loathe the same boy, and I have to muster the gall to tell my best friends of this new development which they surely won't be able to forgive me for.

"I'll just Apparate! Or…Floo powder? Did you change?" Draco's uncharacteristic panic brings me back to reality and I realize that _he's _nervous about being put on the line of fire too.

Which doesn't serve to make me feel any better.

If it were up to me, I'd just lay back down with him, and kiss him till they had to leave, but that's not practical, is it?

"_Yes_, I changed," I reply shaking my head at my stupid thoughts. "And no, that's the thing, I don't have any Floo, I just have it connected to the Network. And you can't Apparate in my house, plus we have no backyard." Stupid London!

What are they going to do when they find out? _If _I tell them? But of course I'm going to tell them. If I don't, they'll _kill _me.

But maybe they'll kill me in reaction to the news. Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?

"Erm…the garage?" For Merlin's sake.

"It's not attached to the house, actually. Surely they'd notice if you tried to sneak out through the front door?"

Draco just throws his hands up in the air, waiting for an answer, eyes agog.

"Just…just stay here. Look, look it's 9:50, you only have to wait for 2 hours," I instruct, pointing to the clock on my wall. "Just relax, read a book or something, I have to go!"

"Relax? I think it's a little fucking hard to _relax, _especially if you're going to reveal anything."

"I haven't decided yet, _actually. _And I'm already hard-pressed enough having to come to terms with the fact that I may lose some friends for a while, the least you could do is calm down a bit," I say shrilly.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he says gentler. "You're the boss. Maybe I can go back to sleep, I'll be the one unable to hold back if I hear that idiot yelling at you."

"He's not an idiot," I scold frustrated. "You have to realize how WEIRD this is, who you _are. _Draco, I-"

"Look, Granger. Hermione – they're waiting downstairs. It would be best to not start them off in a testy mood. I just happen to be on edge too. I know it's weird, alright? Can I have a kiss though – uh, before you go..." he adds in a quiet voice, putting his arms behind his back and looking at the floor.

I smile despite myself and go onto my tip toes to give him a quick peck. Draco Malfoy, embarrassed. Aw.

"And be quiet!" I remind him as another thump downstairs sounds.

"As you wish, master." I roll my eyes as I shut Draco in my room, and race down the stairs to get the door, millions of questions and a bit of anger bubbling in and out of my head and chest. I don't have enough time to PROCESS this.

"Oh god." I glance at the mirror in the hall; I look frightful. My hair is a mushroom cloud, and the little makeup I had on yesterday is smeared. All well, too late now, let's hope they won't be suspicious.

HA.

_Okay, okay, calm down Hermione, deep breaths, it's just Harry and Ron. Harry and Ron, who love you. Ron loves you too much, and their worst enemy is upstairs in your room, but…they'll forgive you right? Right? _

I give a little 'bah!', then calm myself enough to open the door. I see Ron, Harry, and_ Ginny_ on my porch. Harry looks uncomfortable, Ron looks nervous, and Ginny looks bored. Oh, lovely.

"Hi," I say awkwardly, pushing my hands against the door frame, leaning outside into the morning crisp air.

"Hey," Ginny says friendly, waving to me.

"Why did it take you so long to answer the door? –ow!"

"_Harry."_ Ginny swats her boyfriend lightly on the arm, scolding him. "Don't be rude."

"Sorry, we've been waiting for at least 10 minutes," he adds, embarrassed. I feel the need to chuckle, but am too horrified for my vocal chords to emit such a sound.

Ginny would normally put me at more ease by being present, but quite honestly, I know she hates Malfoy just as much as Harry, maybe even more. To the same level as Ron, perhaps.

"I know, I know. Sorry, I slept in. I didn't know what time you all were _coming," _I add with a touch of annoyance. Ron looks at me sheepishly, but Harry is unfazed. Ginny is playing the route of 'everything is fine', looking away from me and smiling, so I shake my head and open my arms to let them all in.

"Speaking of which," I start up again, as we enter my home to the living room, "And if you please, leave your shoes at the front, _how _do you know where I live? And how in the world did you get here? I mean, have any of you actually been in Muggle London before?"

I realized last night as I was talking to Draco, that though he is _very _undereducated in the way of Muggle life, so are a lot of other people I know, like Ron for example. And I guess when you're used to well, _magic, _anything without the use of a wand seems unnecessary. Muggles seem harmless. It just _sucks _that our ways are so underappreciated in the wizarding world, and I wish Muggle Studies was mandatory. Then perhaps, I wouldn't get exasperated so much at stupidity. I mean, Arthur is considered a nut just for liking appliances. What is that? Can't be any worse than being obsessed with Quidditch. But, I digress.

"I've been to London, Hermione. At nighttime mind you, and just in weird areas like the subway, but I grew up in the Muggle world too, remember? In suburban Surrey?" Harry smiles at me, and I try to return it but I'm too anxious of my unintended upstairs guest. I keep hearing thumps that must be imaginary, as no one's said anything yet. I must appear an idiot.

I sit down at the far end of the large leather couch, Ginny plops into the middle, speaking while Harry gets next to her. Ron takes the singular armchair close to me, by the fireplace.

"You know, we haven't been outside King's Cross, have we Ron? Oh and Hermione, didn't I tell you? I passed my Apparition test!"

This tidbit surprises me, returns me to the ground. "Oh? That's great Ginny!"

She beams at me.

"That's how we're here now. Harry isn't too bad, actually, but I'm better," she says pushing him friendly with her shoulder. "Over the summer I practiced a _lot_; I wanted to get it once and for all, for certain reasons," she says winking at me. I remember our conversation about random Muggle inns on the train and shake my head, smirking.

"I had to go to the Ministry, it was _horrid_. Seriously, endless waiting for a stupid 5 minute test. And the lady who tested me was such an old sourpuss, no sense of humour or anything."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Draco's things, his bag and clothing I would assume, on the kitchen counter. I gulp, but maintain constant eye contact with my friends, nodding at Ginny.

"Well at least you've officially _got _yours." Ron crosses his arms, and I can tell he's already in a foul mood.

"You could've gone with me, dear Ronald," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well I wasn't practicing at all, was I? Why make a fool of myself?"

"Not my fault you hadn't bothered to practice. And you're such a dolt; you couldn't make a fool of yourself if you tried! They would've given you a pass even if you splinched yourself again. Everyone is always, 'Oh look! Ron Weasley, Harry Potter's best friend through everything!' Swoon, give me your autograph," she says in a mock posh accent. Harry giggles, and I stifle a grin at the look at Ron's face.

"What about _you? _'Oh look at her, she's so _striking, _so _beautiful. _I wish I was Harry's girlfriend, but I could _never_ measure up to how pretty she is,', blah, blah. Don't make me sick."

"Notice how it's never about my personality? Or how smart I am? And what, you think I'm ugly?" she asks offended, arms crossed. Harry shoots Ron a mix between a dirty look and a pleading one.

"No, of course not – I, just –"

"At least I don't wallow in it like you do! If a pretty girl so much as smiles at you, you become the blushing storyteller of how long you've known Harry and how difficult your life has been."

"I do _not!" _

"ANYWAYS," I enunciate, trying to cut in, putting my arms between them. They pause mid-insult and look at me, red faced. "How did you know where I live?"

Nobody says anything.

"_Ron? Harry?_" I cross my arms. This is so stupid.

"Er, well –" Ron looks shamefaced.

"The thing is –" Harry begins.

"The thing is that nosy over here was angry about you spending your holiday with Malfoy," she points to Ron with her thumb, who huffs, and is about to say something but Ginny continues. "So he gets in a tiff because you hadn't owled us, and is off on a rant about how he's storming over there as soon as he can, and realizes he doesn't know where you live. So Dad, like a big idiot, reminisces about that letter he sent you years ago because he wanted to see how muggle post worked, remember?"

"Oh my god, _that." _In third year I offered to be a correspondent for Mr. Weasley because he was fascinated with mail. He didn't know anybody he could send a package or note to, and obviously being fond of the Weasley family, I obliged as Harry couldn't possibly with the Dursleys.

"Ron rummages around Dad's workshop filled with all those Muggly things, and _finally_ finds it after about 3 hours. So by this time Harry and I are on red alert, and we send you those owls, unbeknownst to Ron."

"Which was _unnecessary_, mind you," he retaliates.

"No, it really wasn't. Then you owled _me_ back but not Harry, and we were kind of confused but you were busy as you said. So we tried to pretend it was from somebody else for me, then _Mum_ asked to see it. Grabbed it without my permission, and of course sussed it out of us on why you were here alone with _Malfoy. _So really in the end it was a blessing because I didn't know that Harry was planning to go see you, but Dad practically forced us all to so you wouldn't have to suffer, because Mum is just as bad as Ron for being Queen Intrusion. When we were trying to explain that your family exists, they pretty much ignored us - but anyways. That's the story. All I did was focus exceptionally hard on the address of the place, and luckily it brought us to the correct location."

Huh.

I forgot about Molly and Arthur in all this. Damn it.

"By the way, we hadn't thought about it thoroughly, because you weren't with us, obviously, but your parents won't be cross, will they?" She looks around, scanning the house as if suddenly Mum will pop out of a geranium vase.

"You have a nice home, by the way," she adds. "Really posh, I don't know what I was expecting to be honest. So….foreign compared to our countryside."

"Thanks," I reply, taking a deep breath. "It is very urban I suppose, but then , it's also Muggle, and I guess you wouldn't know it, but popular design is far different than in wizard Britain."

Ginny nods, waiting for me to continue. Dammit, where's Draco when you need him? He would've been able to make that conversation change successful.

"About my parents…well, they, aren't exactly, here," I state to looks of confusion.

"What do you mean, they aren't here, _exactly?" _Harry inquires. For the first time he looks intently at me, suddenly he's not feeling awkward. And already I'm regretting the decision of not trying to appear more affronted by their intrusion.

"Well I was expecting to have everyone over for Easter, you know? But when I got home my parents informed me that they were going to Scotland for a wedding and also, they had to attend a British Dental conference."

"So you've been here alone …with Malfoy."

The sudden low tonal change in Ron's voice alerts me, and Harry notices it too.

"He did meet my parents on Friday," I try casually, to which Ron balls his fists, turning them white. "And, er my cousin, who lives about a 40 minutes commute away from here. But they left Saturday."

"And let me guess, he was over last night? With you alone, doing all your music-y things?"

"Er," More than that, actually. In fact, I could go for more than that right now. "Yes, you might say that."

"Hermione!" Harry is half-risen out of his seat. He's getting just as angry as Ron.

I sink into my seat, knowing what's coming.

"Why didn't you contact us! We want to make sure you're safe!"

"Harry, _relax_, I've been without parental guidance before. It's only the 3rd day." I know I look overly nervous, but I try to keep my calm, which for me is near impossible.

"B-but why didn't you owl us to alert us of that development?"

"Do you not think I can handle Draco Malfoy on my own?" I reply hotly. Honestly, if only they knew how different he is.

"It isn't that, it's a just in case. So if the time calls for it, we _can _be here if you need it," Harry stresses.

"And we _know_ that he is going to try something, if he hasn't already," Ron pouts.

"What do you mean by _that?" _I ask.

"Well, no offense, Hermione, but look at you. You look distressed, and disheveled. It's pretty obvious that he's been awful to deal with to stress you out so much."

_Excuse me?_

"I'll have you _know,_ Ron, that I only look like this because I overslept. You three woke me up, I wasn't given a _time._ Thank you for pointing it out."

His ears turn the signature red, but I'm not finding it cute. That's incredibly insulting, actually.

"Now, what is everyone's problem? Seriously, it's been 5 minutes and Ginny and Ron, you're at each other's throats. If you wanted to come check up on me, why come over like this? Not really cheering me up, are you?"

Immediately Ginny looks sheepish and Ron continues blushing.

Harry then leans over to say something.

"We're hopeless without you, Hermione." My turn for crimson.

"How so?" I ask in a small voice, feeling guiltily flattered.

"Well you're usually always around to put us all in check. You would be off with Ron if I was with Harry, or with me if the boys wanted to hang about. And you haven't been for a while now. You're the only person who any of us can talk to that gives us good advice, well at least for me, anyhow." Ginny explains.

"_Oh" _I reply quietly. Harry nods, and Ron scowls.

"So seeing how there's all this nonsense with my brother and yourself, it's been rather annoying not having you around. And in any case, it was extremely tedious doing my project with Michael, he was so nervous because _someone _is a jealous little monster, over here." She smiles at Harry, and nudges into him, who grins widely, apologetically back. "And seeing as you're a bit of a control freak, Malfoy seems the type too, we deduced that you'd be at each throats."

My throat suddenly feels dry.

I need to tell someone. This isn't like having a time turner, and we're not 14 anymore. If I like a boy, I have to tell them, even Ron. Especially because he's in my freaking room.

But I don't know if I can do it. The only person who could remotely understand would be Ginny, and even then, Draco has been an absolute asshole to the Weasley's. For some reason I always forget it when I talk to him. Maybe because when I was on the receiving end of insults I was able to almost always ignore it, but I know when he fed them insults, he was trying to one-up them all the time. And at least for the boys, it always works.

I have a sudden idea. One that is probably not going to go over well, but _nothing _I try is going to go over well. I'm going to try and be nonchalant about it, maybe slip it into the conversation?

"You would think that, but actually, we weren't. Actually, he was rather agreeable. Tea?" I ask standing up.

Suddenly I feel a hot palm on my forehead, stopping me from moving, and I look up to see it's Harry looking at me disbelievingly.

"What?"

"Sorry, just checking you didn't have a fever because, _agreeable? _When has 'Malfoy' and 'agreeable' ever been two words viable to put in a sentence together?"

"Since Friday, I suppose," I reply airily.

I finish getting up nonchalantly, and dust off my trousers. All eyes on me.  
Then I walk to the middle of the room.  
"Tea?"

"Uh, sure," Ginny says trying to cut some tension. "That would be nice."

The boys say nothing as I fill the kettle up with water and plug it into the wall. I noisily, deliberately grab plates from the cupboard, the cups, a biscuit tin.

In it are the remainders of the scones Mum made, exactly 4. Silently, I praise Draco for not asking for more last night.

"What exactly did Malfoy do to make him agreeable?" Harry questions when I go to pick out the orange pekoe and English Breakfast, attempting to rid his tone of malice.

"I don't really want to _hear that, _Harry," Ron spits quietly.

"He didn't insult me, he picked my music choice, and he conversed with my Mum, who happened to like him," I sigh, ignoring Ron, placing a tea pot onto the coffee table along with saucers, and distributing plates.

Nobody touches the tea, as I expected them not to, and so as I sit back down, I fill my cup first.

"So? Those are things that normal people do, what people _should _do," Ron says angrily.

"Yes, they are. Which is agreeable, yes?"

Harry shakes his head at me, but I've got to at least _try _to upsell Malfoy, haven't I?

"Why would your Mum like a sod like him?"

I take another deep breath through my nose, refusing to let him get to me, because I know if he does, in a second I'll crack.

Suddenly, an audible _thunk, _I swear it's not me, sounds from upstairs.

It's right above us.

Where my room is.

Merlin.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"I'm not sure, probably – Crookshanks," I manage quickly, thanking my big lovely cat for existing.  
"Ginny, would you join me upstairs for a second, please? To check the noise. I also need to – ask you something. Something I didn't want to put in our letter."

She darts a look at Harry, and raises an eyebrow, but she complies and gets up to follow me.

"Drink your tea," I point to the table, commanding the boys.

She doesn't think I see it, but Ginny looks back for a second and shrugs at Harry as we climb the steps, obviously confused, as she should be.

I don't speak again until we reach the top of the stairs.

"Ginny, I have something to show you. You aren't going to like it."

"Uh," she shifts her weight to one leg and grabs one of her shoulders nervously. "_Show_ me?"

"Look, this is going to be a shock to you once I explain everything, but I _hope _you can hear me out, because Ron will kill us, and Harry will never speak to me again."

"Hermione, what -? _Us?_"

"Ginny, I've broken Ron's heart, and I will never forgive myself for it, but I don't want to date him. We're simply not compatible enough," I rush on, frantically.

"Not compatible? You argued like an old married couple, you were the definition of opposites attract, 'Mione. You've been through everything together…sorry, if you don't want him I get it, he's pretty disgusting, you've no clue," she says confused and shaking her head. "But I don't understand what that has to do with anything."

I sigh, taking in her painfully true words.

"Just. Okay, here – "

I turn the brass knob into my room, hoping I don't scare Draco into oblivion, squeezing my eyes shut.

But as the whoosh of the wood sounds, everything is anticlimactic.

"Well?"

I open my eyes. As the vision of my surroundings come back to me, the bed is revealed to be empty. And the chair, and the loveseat.

Crookshanks is purring on the floor, circling around as if some invisible person is standing there to make their limbs available for relentless rubbing.

I don't have a big enough closet to house a human, just shoes; my wardrobe is for my clothes.

Where the hell _did he go?_

"Er, Hermione?"

And then I see it: parchment on my desk, with an ink scrawl, put underneath my paperweight of Big Ben. The window is open a crack, it must've been the window slamming shut that made the noise. _That devil._

He's so good with escaping trouble, I'm surprised there hasn't been award made for it yet.

"Hermione? Y'alright?"

I walk into the room silently, as if somehow I'll break the air I my room and reveal Malfoy to be rendered visible.

I go over to sit down on the edge of the bed, realizing I miraculously dodged a major bullet.

"HER-MIO-NEE?"

Ginny is waving a hand in front of me, I realize.

"What is the matter with you, love?" she asks, coming over, sitting next to me on my bed. "What did you want to show me?"

"Er – the thing is," I look around me for an inspiration for a lie. But everything reminds me of Draco, and how he's the first boy to ever have been in here, to have ever laid next to me on my bed. To embrace me.

Something inside me stirs, but I need to quell it.

So I try and focus on Ginny instead, with her perfectly straight red hair, her orb-like green eyes framed in lashes that go from blond to dark brown, her freckled complexion and warm smile. She's so uncomplicatedly beautiful next to me. I'm so jealous of her.

Harry is probably jealous 24/7.

Like a lightning flash, I've found my excuse.

"Have you been having a difficult time too with answering McGonagall's questions?" I try first, knowing she's going to see through it. "I know Michael was well-to-do, thanks to Harry. I just feel like I've accomplished nothing." Ginny looks surprised and then skeptical.

"Really, you dragged me up here about school? I find that hard to believe, 'Mione," she says grabbing a wrist and placing it in her lap.

"Come on, you can tell me, I'm your friend remember?" She smiles at me again, and I _almost _want to give in, but I _can't. _So I continue with my scheme.

I decide to take the route of 'girl related problems', loathing myself for what I'm about to do. "Oh, Ginny," I mock sob. "I'm just feeling so down about myself."

I cling to her navy sweater, dramatically. Immediately I feel a hug.

"Whatever for?" she asks concerned.

"I just feel inadequate next to you all the time, to other girls, and I can't get things right with Ron, Harry I haven't spoken to in a while. I just want to let Ron know how I truly feel."

"Inadequate next to me? Darling, you're the talk of the town," Ginny laughs. "All the boys love you, all girls envy you, even if they won't say as much."

"Yes, but only because of what they hear. Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I'm likeable." I dart a look at my desk, hoping Ginny doesn't see it before I have a chance to read it.

"And what they _see_, my dear," she says, pushing me straight so she can take a look at me. "Since when did you care about what everyone else says? Fuck 'em," she states, sticking her tongue out. Oh, if only you knew, Ginny dear.

"I know, I just – " oh god, what can I say to make this convincing? "I feel bad about you all being so far away from me for a while. It's just the whole thing with Dean and how it affected Ron– "

"Well fix it then," Ginny says simply, patting my head. "Ron can suck it, he's not Harry's only friend. As a matter of fact, I find it quite silly that you all can't function without each other. And Dean will be fine. If he's Harry's friend still after going out with me a few days after us falling out, then he can survive, lots of girls fancy him."

"You're right of course." And she is. I _will _hang out with Harry more, he's my best friend.

Everything else was exaggerated nonsense, but still such good advice.

"There, now smile, sweetheart." She pinches my cheek and I roll my eyes. "You're always so high-strung. I think you need a good, hearty shag."

"_Ginny!" _I cry outraged, internally thinking that she's most likely right, but if that's true, then it'll more than likely be caused by her worst enemy.

A sudden image of Malfoy smiling while hovering over me on my bed floods my brain, and I shake it out. Dear god, what was _that?_

"And always remember that; you are B-E-A-UTIFUL," she sings, bringing me out of it, then giggles.

She prances across my room and out the bedroom door.

I walk out towards the stairs, following Ginny without the same loping grace as she.

From my view above the living room, I notice the boys haven't moved an inch.

"Having a fun time without us, I see." Ginny notes dryly, wherein I chuckle.

"Er – problem solved?" Harry asks.

"Yes," I say, plopping down at the end of the couch once again. "Crookshanks is one noisy kitty, I'll say that much."

"Yes, well, we never doubted his mischief now did we?"

Everyone chuckles, and I'm glad that _finally _we aren't so awkward. Then I proclaim my proactive suggestion.

"I was thinking…maybe tomorrow I could come down to the Burrow? If you aren't all busy or anything…."

"NO, come!" Ginny says brightly, loudly. "We've been bored stiff. Well, I have. All I've done is work, or else had to endure dinners with Phlegm and Bill, and George with his little girlfriend from the shop, whatshername?"

"Verity," Ron says too quickly, and then blushes. "What, it's a very odd name, isn't it?"

"Yes, she's so very chah-ming with her posh Oxford accent. Little pixie blonde hair cut too, Ron was simply _mesmerized _by her conversation."

"Ginny, will –you- _can it!"_

I start laughing and Ron spares me an odd look, but smiles back, hoping not to ruin my foul mood.

"I'll come at around noon, how about?"

"Yeah sure," Ron confirms, though I can sense a bit of excitement in his eyes, and I feel a dart of guilt build in my stomach.

"Anyways, so how's your project going, what've you been up to? Harry, Ron, er –how's Quidditch coming along?"

Boy, that sets them all off.

Immediately I get a retelling of Harry's fantastic playing just yesterday, and Ron's monumental improvement on his Keeping ability. Ginny nods sourly, envious of their free time and then gets to have her piece about working with Michael, and how Harry is always darting round the corners every so often, being a general green eyed monster.

Discussion of family, of general gossip and hatred or love of school simply makes the time swing by, and before I know it, it's 11:57. I feel significantly more relaxed and at ease about listening to such normal things, even the mundane.

Unfortunately, I have no clue if Malfoy is going to show up, and I need to get these lovely people out. Something is nagging at me to tell them about Draco and I going on our date, but I can't bring myself to. Everytime I am about to spill the beans, my throat tightens.

"And then Mum actually has the audacity to ask George about –"

"Sorry to interrupt," I butt in, making Ron a bit sad faced that he didn't get to finish. "Malfoy is supposed to be here around noon, just letting you know. You may want to clear out."

"No, let that bugger come, I want a few words." Ron is scowling again like earlier, and I just shake my head. Ginny smacks Ron lightly across his ginger hair.

"You ninny, she doesn't _want_ us here, is what she's saying. It's for the best, don't want a murder investigation tonight. Come on children, single file," she rouses up the troops, and I walk them all to the door, Ron muttering protests.

"Thanks for the tea, Hermione," Harry says. "And sorry we didn't tell you the time we were coming. You have to admit though, it put everyone at ease, yes?"

"I suppose," I concede grabbing him for a hug. Something about these people act as a narcotic. Whenever I have a good time, it's like I'm walking on sedated air for the rest of the day. "Bye, Harry."

And I really am impressed with Harry. I told him during the summer I thought he always took Ron's side and left me to my own devices in times of crisis. But I'm glad he's really thinking of my feelings by contacting me and protecting me from Ron's anger for the sake of school.

"Bye, Gin," I say, as she pulls me in, engulfing me with her slender arms. "Thanks."

"Au revoir, Hermione. Don't let the Malfoy's bite," she laughs, though internally I'm hoping that one _does_. "And you're welcome," she finishes with a knowing smile.

"If he lays a hand on you," Ron cuts in, and for once today I find his concern endearing. "You know I'll go after him."

"Come here, Ronald," I reply once again shaking my head, and his momentary surprise is filled with a nice smile, our embrace warm.

I really did miss talking to them frequently.

They all wave their goodbyes as they bundle up their jackets, and step onto the deck into the warm midday sunlight. I join them, relishing the weather, feeling like I've not been outside properly in years. We wait until the coast is clear, and I give them a thumbs up to Apparate, the sharp crack reverberating for a few moments.

I inhale the freshness, but the grandfather clock chimes and returns my attention inside once again to my worried mind that I had left behind. So I rush back up to my bedroom to read the parchment I'd almost forgotten about. I grab it and lean against the desk.

_Miss Granger,_

_I really couldn't sit still in here, and quite frankly the prospect of Potter coming in to turn me into dust, or having Weasley punch my guts out, or his sister using her crazy curses was greater than my need to please you._

_Sorry._

_Anyhow, your lovely beast was meowing at me, and I couldn't shake it once again of its anger towards myself, and so I am sitting halfway out your window as I write this. I'll be back at 12, and hide somewhere if they haven't left yet. I'll wait for you to come out front and I'll be there waiting for you to notice me._

_I can get my piano anyways, and we can either practice the shit out of whichever song we're doing, or else I'll buy you that iPod._

_Draco._

He signed it Draco.

No hugs or kisses or anything, that would be weird actually. But I'm pleased, anyways.

Huh, was he out there when they left? _No, surely not_.

I retrace my steps to the outside, clutching the note, and actually venture to the lawn, looking around for him.

Then I unexpectedly hear a hefty tap, as if on glass. I look out onto the road, and inside my neighbours son's truck which is against the curb is Draco, leaning against the wheel. He waves to me, then exits the driver seat, beaming at me, making my stomach fill with butterflies.

As he slams the door, I notice in his hand a box; his piano.

"Didjya miss me?"

* * *

Holy fuck this is frightening.

Potter and Weasley are visible from the front window of Granger's house.

I am currently peering in from the wall, where the garage is. Luckily they're facing away from where I am, but I have no idea where to turn.

I couldn't stop fidgeting or pacing once the idiotic voice of 'Ron' filled the room downstairs. And stupid ginger cat made another appearance, must've slipped itself in in the morning.

I was freaking the fuck out, I didn't want a repeat of yesterday. So I slipped out the window, and thank fuck it worked. I didn't want to sit on a windowsill for 2 hours, and just in case they went upstairs, which Granger _did, _because the cat is perched on the sofa arm now, I went to my house.

Most awkward apparition ever.

I was actually able to get in this time, and nobody was home. It felt so very empty, when normally I'd savour that. Peoni was probably hiding from me, petrified I'd punish her.

So I made a drink, played my piano a bit, decided there wasn't enough time for a bath, and came back here, where I'm presently creeping.

It's almost 12.

I have no idea if Granger saw my note, but all of a sudden they're all standing up, oh fuck, shit, balls.

Frantically, I look around me and notice a giant car-thing right beside the road. I don't want to run the risk of breaking anything, but I feel I have no choice, there's nowhere to hide here unless I go to a different lawn, but screw that.

I mad dash to the door of the vehicle, and tentatively check to see if it'll open. And thank Merlin it pops open like a miracle! I shove myself in, putting my piano on the passenger side and try to sink low into the odd leather seat. My eye level matches that of the wheel that mans the car. There are a lot of buttons, but I notice on the door there is one embedded with a lock symbol, so I push it and an all-round 'click' makes me jump. Does this make me safe or?

I have no time to steady myself though, cause there's all of them , standing outside. Torture-filled seconds pass by and then the three interlopers have left. I want to jump up and out of here, but Granger's already gone back inside, fuck. However, she's not in view of the kitchen, so she must've gone upstairs to read the note.

Sure enough, after 3 or 4 more fruitless minutes, she's back outside, and gets onto the grass. I rap on the glass and wave at her while her expression becomes mingled with horror and slight amusement. I unlock the door and hop out.

"Didjya miss me?"

"Draco! How did you get into that car?" She asks amazed.

"I opened the door?" I try.

"You mean it was unlocked? Goodness, better tell the Fairbrother's to lock up." She looks very frazzled, her hair like a tangled lion's mane, and her face splotchy and pocked with yesterday's makeup. "Please don't break and enter people's cars again."

I nod, feeling that I don't feel so bad about not showering now. But damn, she must've been really nervous.

"So, you miss me?" I repeat, trying to lighten her up. I walk over to meet her, but she turns around and begins to walk inside the house.

"Maybe just a smidge," she says, as we both enter the threshold, and she closes the door behind me. "It's been 2 hours, you silly boy."

"Two hours too long," I reply, smiling sweetly at her, wherein she blushes. I kick off my shoes and follow her to the familiar destination of the stairs leading to her room.

"Hold up," I say, and I run to grab my bag of clothing, wanting to change badly, the sweat of my shirt irritating me. If we're going into Muggle territory, I need to be prepared, which is why I refrained from changing at home. As we walk up the familiar purple room, my mind turns to the lack of anger in her departed guests.

"I take it you didn't tell dear Ronald of our rendezvous last night?"

She sighs, and doesn't bother closing the door as she falls back onto her bed, legs splayed out , her bare toes touching the dark wooded floor. She runs her hand through her hair at her temple and nods.

"I couldn't do it. I felt guilty though. I'm going over there tomorrow." _Ugh._

I squeeze my knuckles together, but don't let it faze me. "To the Weasel's? Lovely."

Okay, so maybe I do.

"You're going to have to start calling them the _Weasley's_, you know."

"Trust me, I won't. They won't want anything to do with me." I go over and sit beside her on the bed, one leg off the bed, one leg crossed onto the duvet, so I can move my torso to face her lying body. I place my possessions onto the ground.

"You never know. It may take a while. Molly is quite a nice woman once you know her…"

I snort. "Yeah, fat chance, love. Lucius Malfoy is my father remember? When have he or Arthur ever seen eye to eye? Not to mention my Dad was always a self-righteous prick. And as am I, or was. They'll never forgive me."

She punches my leg, "Oh shut up, have some faith."

"My family is the anti-faith, the Mal-foys; bad faith en francais. We are descended from treacherous greedy buffoons alike. Forever cursed into being Slytherin assholes," I say dramatically. She punches me again, only this time, it kind of hurts.

"You're so full of it."

"Am not," I reply messing up her hair even more with my hand. She grabs my hand and lunges for my leg again, but I grab her wrist.

"You wanna play dirty, Miss Granger?" I ask, raising my eyebrow; the challenge. She gives me a look, the kind that reads 'Don't Even Dare.' But I ignore it.

Before she has time, I grab her other wrist with my same hand, loving that my stature entails me to have huge palms and long fingers. Then I begin to tickle her relentlessly, on her sides, under her arms and even her neck.

She squeals , kicks and writhes against me in an attempt to escape, but fails. A bit of her stomach is now showing as her arms are extended, and I can see the outline of her panties peeking under her dark jeans. Through the simple t-shirt her breasts feed me a tantalizing tease, but I ignore the urge to get on top of her, ready to pound her, as best as I can.

"Dr-draco- p-pl-please! _I hate you!_ St-stop, stop, stop!" Her shaky voice comes in tremors and breaths, and finally after I can see her basically giggling in pain, I let her go and she smacks my side, me now lying parallel to her body, laughing my ass off at her.

"Oh come on, it was funny," I say, and duck as she tries throwing a pillow at me.

"Maybe for you," she pouts, getting up now. I watch her from the bed as she rummages through the wardrobe, apparently looking for something better to wear.

"So are we going to Muggleton today?" I ask, curious.

"If you want, Tickle Monster. Why?" She turns to look at me, holding what seems to be a shirt and sweater. I smirk at her comment.

"Well you're changing is all. I should think I need to as well. Seeing as all my crap's here," I gesture to my bag.

"Oh. Yeah. I mean, it'll take 2 hours at the most, just pop in and out of 2 shops."

"I don't mind the wait," I say gently, standing up to scavenge through my foreign clothing choices.

"That's good, because I haven't figured out how we're getting there yet," she replies.

"What do you mean?" My stomach drops slightly.

"Well, we can take the car, but traffic will be mad. Or else the bus, or tube and that's about it."

"Oh," I say shallowly, swallowing. Ew, public transportation.

She steals a glance at me and grins like a mother would to a precocious child. "Nervous, are you?"

"Mildly disgusted," I admit, grimacing at the thought of someone's fat ass occupying the seat before I've sat on it, or else catching germs. _Shudder._

"There's a first time for everything!" _Ha ha. _

I make the farting noise with my tongue, a disapproving one.

"All well, whatever, just hold my hand through it?" She laughs and agrees.

After rummaging through my bag to grab a black t-shirt and beige corduroy pants, I drop my trousers. I notice Granger gawping at me, eyes wide, shirts still frozen in hand.

"What?" I ask.

"Sorry, just not used to people freely changing in front of me," she replies blushing furiously.

"You've seen me naked, remember?" I remind her, winking as I turn round and pulls down my drawers. Don't need her to see my dick, but I don't care is she sees my bony arse.

"Well last time you were embarrassed…" she squeaks. Evidently, she's still staring at me.

"Because three grown men happened to see while I was unaware. It's just awkward."

I pull up my pants, new boxers on, jumping into the slim fit, buttoning and zipping up. As I whip off my shirt, I decide to face her, wanting to remember her flushed face for later.

But her visage surprises me. It's still pink with shyness, but she gazes up and down my body, from my navel to my eyes.

She practically burns my retinas with her piercing look and walks towards me. Before I realize what's happened, she's so close to me, I feel heat radiating from her exposed arms.

Tentatively, she reaches out and runs fingers along a thin scar that runs through my whole abdomen, making me quiver.

"_That was from Harry, wasn't it,"_ she whispers. "_And that," _she adds, dipping lower to my hip, where my pelvic muscles jut out, more from lack of food than working out. In any case, on my pelvic bone, there is a scar as well.

"Yes," I reply, my throat clogged from the tingling sensation of female gentleness. "We weren't able to heal the wounds completely."

A flashback of myself falling unconscious onto the floor, and cuts everywhere, blood spilling into every orifice fills my head, but I push it right back out.

"I probably deserved it though, considering what – ah!"

She moved her hand to my forearm, which I yank away from anyone on principle. However, she grabs it again more roughly, and traces the skull and snake pattern with her thumb.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, staring up at me with a look that's making my insides scream.

"It hasn't since he died."

"Oh."

"I want to get rid of it, but I probably can't. I guess that's my punishment for being such a pussy when it comes to standing up for what's right."

I try to chuckle, she merely stares intently at me still, leaving me to wonder why.

Then she closes her soul searchers, and lips attack me unannounced. She pushes herself up against me, and with haste, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close enough that I am almost holding her above the ground.

She shifts her weight and we tumble onto her bed. Her hot breath, her hot lips are on mine, mashing them and releasing when we can't breathe anymore.

"Hermione – what; has gotten; into you," I gasp in between kisses.

She detaches herself from me, panting. "I have no idea. I just -," she replies out of breath, running her hands again along my torso. "I find scar's fascinating, they're oddly unnatural. Each one has a story. And I'm surprised you have a little treasure trail."

She skims the fair hairs that lead from my navel to my nether regions which makes me produce sharp intake of breath.

"I just like your chest."

"Thanks," I laugh. "I probably like yours too," I wink at her. I pull her in to me, yet she resists.

"What no cuddling?" I pout. She stands up in front of the bed, and I pull myself into a sitting position, facing her.

Slowly, very seductively, she pulls off her white shapeless shirt, to reveal a simple black bra. Her boldness of not placing her hands over the lingerie is shadowed by her obvious reluctance, which makes it seem like I am the first one to get to witness such a display, and my heart leaps, and my dick hardens at the sight of her glorious encased tits. Her stomach is one of those lovely ones that carry the slightest bit of weight right where her hips begins. One that is naturally slim. She's so fucking hot.

But just like that, her peep show is over, and a camisole with a navy cardigan covers up her cleavage as quickly as it came.

"No fair." I say.

"You're lucky I even did that at all" she maintains, breathless, still unbelieving of her careless display.

"True," I reply, pulling on my shirt as well from the floor, and then grabbing the back of her thighs to pull her in for one last kiss.

"On second thought," Hermione says, after a last kiss turned into many pecks, "Why don't we just stay in for now? Transpose the music?"

Holy fuck, yes please.

"And the song we're doing?" I murmur while smooching her neck. She shivers.

"_Oh god_ – how about the one I said originally? Redemption?"

"Sounds lovely," I reply, remembering it from last night. Beautiful piano that lingers into violins and soft percussion, which we could probably leave out. "You should put it on for inspiration, now."

"_Now?" _She asks, sounding in pain as I lick the shell of her ear.

"Yes."

"Well, w-who is g-going to sing?" She is shaking from the sensation, I can't fucking believe it; this is my wildest wettest dream come true.

"We both can, or I will, fuck," I bite her lobe and she gives a slight groan, but before I can pull her on top of me again, she gets up to walk to the stereo, and instead of our symphony, a fast-beat song comes on with a sexy piano intro.

_Then she attacks me like a Leo,  
When my heart is split like Rio,  
But, I assure you my debts are real_

_I can't find the words to say,_  
_When I'm confused,_  
_I've travelled half the world to say,_  
_You are my muse_.

She certainly does attack me like a lion would. No sooner are the speakers hooked up does she come back to me, and kisses me.

And I realize in this instant (why it never occurred to me, I've no idea); Granger is horny.

Hermione Granger wants to fuck.

And she's trying not to let the best of her get away away, but oh, will I ever try to seduce her.

{}

Sure enough, by 11 pm that night, we've spent the entire day interchangeably making out and then writing down music notes on staff paper while talking about nonsense. A prefect way to spend the day, really.

We ended up strolling into Muggle town, though we walked. An hour walk, but I simply would not get on that grubby bus full of smelly people. And it was rather nice out, anyways.

It was odd just to chat with Hermione, without worrying about if people will recognize me nor her. Some boy with giant holes in his ears even said I had a 'cool tattoo', which almost made me clock him, but then Hermione nudged me and reminded me where we were. It's so _weird _that nobody cares who I am here; it's a blessing really.

We walked to her bookshop and picked up the Muse book from the counter. She spent an extra half an hour in there perusing everything, but I imagine she does that quite a bit at school, so I let her do it, and bought her three more books despite her protest which just wasted 15 minutes.

Then I dragged her to get an iPod, through her stupid rants about not getting her one. I actually kept asking random pedestrians where to get one until she gave up and led me to this 'Apple Store'. It didn't sell fruit, I don't really know what it did sell, but it had her device. I got her a giant one, well space-wise, whatever that means. According to the dolts down there, it's good.

Now Granger is debating with me about centaurs for some reason. I can't quite remember how we managed to get to this topic. I'm sitting at my piano in her room; she shrank her furniture to move it aside. I'm diddling with the keys as she sits atop it, very sexily posed to me, one leg crossed over the other.

She's letting out some conversation steam. She doesn't seem to realize I love arguing with her, I love how angry she gets. It's cute she cares so much.

"But _Draco, _can't you see that if the Ministry simply _gave _them the status of being intelligent, that surely they'd be more…more _agreeable?"_

Oh, poor pet.

"Hermione, they hate being classified in the same rank as humans, or vampires, or any people-like creature. They don't give a shit about their intelligence based by twats like Umbridge. They're 'Beasts' to the Ministry."

"Yes, I _know, _but that's by their choice. They have a whole world of options available to them through the government –"

"And they don't take any of those options because they see it as welfare, as degrading, can't you see _that_?"

"I wasn't done! I was going to say that nobody at the Ministry makes an effort to treat them like they are intelligent, I've heard Arthur Weasley joke about their Liaison offices. If one party treats the co-operation as a joke, why would the other want to come? Why not put more energy; maybe they'll want to come if there was more effort put forth?"

"Because they're stuck up brats, all of them. They won't. It doesn't necessarily mean they can't be nice or anything, but they all think they're holier than thou, you have to know that. Centaurs are extremely proud of their heritage, and Wizards aren't exactly privy to beings that prefer weapons to magic that can do more than wound. Goblins are greedy enough to exploit us like we exploit them; centaurs know better."

She clucks frustrated, and shoots me a dirty look where I smile.

"See? You know I'm right."

"You're not right, you just have _some _basis of truth," she grumbles, crossing her arms.

"Oh come on now, I thought we were having a great debate." I stand up, then walk around to the side of my beautiful instrument, and hook her under the arms with my hands and pull her closer to me.

Reluctantly, she schooches forwards, still upset at her lack of argument; creature rights really are the only place she sometimes has flawed logic. I kiss the top of her forehead, and she cracks a smile.

"I suppose it's just a debate."  
Internally, she's dying, I know it.

I hop up to sit beside her, not wary of my device; it's almost indestructible, and two lithe bodies won't break it.

"You know you really are hot when you're angry," I laugh, placing a stray strand behind her ear. She mimics my motion and bites her lip.

"How?" she chuckles, mortified.

"Because it's nice seeing somebody get worked up about something; to care. Plus, you can release anger that way instead of snapping at me."

"I'm just glad you have something to argue with me, most people don't even care to think about what I have to say about controversial things. Some adults humour me, they still think they're smarter than me because i'm not 'old enough or experienced enough to understand,'"

"That's cause they suck."

She shakes her head at me, but leans in for the umpteenth time, planting her always luscious lips on me. I lean onto my elbows and pull her down, rolling myself into her, and she into me.

I am very aware we are atop my piano, one of my most erotic fantasies coming true, though I know I won't be able to push a naked Granger against the keys, knees on the stool and me fucking her from behind tonight.

Or having her spread right here on the hood, me pounding the fuck out of her, while she wraps her lovely legs around my body and _ugh._

_Fucking stop._

I know I have a slight stiff one down there, but I try to ignore it, and kiss Hermione more carnally; little bites, tongue across lips, and French experiments.

She's tugging my hair, moaning softly, and lightly hitting my shoulder blade, as if this is too much to handle. I move my hands rhythmically around her back, clutching her camisole, pulling at her shoulders, the cardigan discarded.

She puts a leg in between mine, and I am able to get her closer to me, placing a hand on her hip. She has a small intake of breath but doesn't move it, and so I push my luck by snaking it up inside her shirt.

I move my hand to cup her breast, over the soft cotton fabric. Her breath hitches. Suddenly she stops kissing me, and I feel I've hit a sour note.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, pulling her head to my chest, stroking her hair.

"It's okay, I just –"

"I know, 2 days. I can't help it. You're too much. I feel we just have that spark, Hermione. The one some people don't have with partners they completely adore otherwise. It's absolutely lethal."

I pull her away from me, and trace her bottom lip with my finger. She smiles.

"I'm trying hard not to let my head overwhelm me, let my senses take over sometimes; it's hard," she admits.

"Well it's who you are; rational. Not emotional. Don't fret, I enjoy anything I get to do to you and vice versa."

"Thanks, Draco."

I kiss her one last time, and then get out of my fantasy.

"I know you're going to that place tomorrow, d'you want to meet here the day after?"

She looks at me, smiling wider than ever. "Do you really not tire of me so quickly?"

"Of course not," I reply, helping her off so I can reshrink the piano.

She leads me to the door, where I have gathered all of my many belongings in advance, and kiss her goodnight on the porch, her silhouette even more engaging in the moonlight.

She stands in the frame as I Apparate home, waving and smiling.

I'm beaming all the way up the gravel, and into my house, and into room, where I don't even need a drink. I just lie awake on my bed, wondering what I'll do tomorrow, rehashing the day's events.

I cannot believe she likes me.

And I know now she certainly does, even if she won't say to it. Kissing her is far more passionate than Pansy's sex ever was.

I just hope this stupid 'forbidden' nonsense will clear out quickly, but I'll keep it under wraps forever if that's what she wants.  
I need her in my life.

* * *

_Tuesday Prophet: Morning Edition_

_**CELEBRITY WATCH: SHOCKING NEW COUPLE ALERT**_

_**Death Eater's Son with The Gryffindor Vixen?**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

_**An unnamed source, who has been known to be 'very close' with the young man in question, gave tips to the Prophet that not only is Narcissa Malfoy, recent divorcee of Lucius Malfoy, getting shacked up again to a French prince, but one of our abroad photographers - Miles Hughes - snapped shots of none other than Hermione Granger, female best friend and major aid to Harry Potter, with Draco Malfoy, son of the infamous Lucius, who is serving time in Azkaban for war crimes.**_

_**The two were spotted in Boudreaux, France on Sunday at the luxurious Cerisier, a popular hotspot for Wizard and Muggle celebrities. We couldn't believe our ears, either, but believe your eyes with the snapshots printed below; is this good girl gone bad? Perhaps wild? Maybe she is yearning to salvage whatever is left of poor Draco's heart, to make him a better person.**_

_**Whatever the two lovebirds are up to, they were spotted again in Muggle Central London yesterday afternoon, on one of the main shopping districts. Pictured are the pair kissing at the dinner table (in France) and laughing jovially on the street in London (note the Muggle attire.). We at the Daily Prophet wish the best of luck to this blooming new couple!**_


	32. Red vs Green

**Words to convince, words to deny  
Speakin' the language of love and lies  
Bleeding words they lead to joy and sorrow;  
Freedom to death row**

**Hopelessly she said I'm so sorry**  
**It's nothing like I ever heard**  
**'Cause nothing hurts like your bleeding words**  
**Words you use to hurt me**

**You can easily throw them away**  
**Where they will stay on someone else's mind.**

**- Bleeding Words, Mobile.**

* * *

_Molly Weasley is not one to muck about. Every day she makes herself as useful as her dwindling body will let her. Tending the chickens, de-gnoming the garden, cleaning the house, preparing dinner, and going to visit family and friends that may or may not need support. It's all in a day's work._

_Lately, however, she finds herself with exponential free time. Less and less people in the house to mess the place up, she can often skip chores that are unnecessary. Right now for example, she's sipping her morning tea in the cozy sitting room, browsing the _Prophet, _which she'll fully peruse once Arthur's gone off to work. At the moment, she's contemplating how exactly she got from never having a spare minute to having spare time for everything. And everyone._

_Andromeda comes over often and brings Teddy, which is the highlight of her week. Arthur is busy at work, but not swamped. The world seems infinitely less filled with crime, and counterfeit objects scarce, so he gets a call maybe twice a week to leave the office. His promotion remained intact when Kingsley Shacklebolt had become the new Minister for Magic in the election shortly following He Who Must Not Be Name's defeat, and Rufus Scrimgeour's death. This close kinship with Kingsley from the Order also gained Arthur some well-deserved respect after all the years of 'Muggle-lover' being whispered behind his back. Now, Molly yearns for the next party or function, where she is envied by other women hanging on to Arthur's every word, instead of loathing the swotty interns who dressed to the nines and giggled at the aging couple. _

_They also go out to eat at least once every two weeks, something they hadn't done since Bill and Charlie had a sitter._

_Bill now has his own pregnant wife at home, she doesn't want to impose (too much). Charlie is off like he always is, on to the next adventure so different from the pace of English life. George has finally livened up a bit what with his imp-like, vivacious girlfriend, Verity, moving in to his flat. Molly has yet to evaluate her as tarty or endearing. She's just glad he's not moping about Fred 24/7, god knows she can't keep her composure seeing her funniest son shed tears. Percy is still in London, and still increasingly busy at work under Kingsley as well; but he has also found a girl, Audrey, casually dating as he has little time for romance._

_Even with the Hogwarts kids back for the few weeks, she feels underwhelmed by the lack of errands to do; the empty nest so it were. They're growing up, her babies, and she doesn't want to smother them on their holiday, but she's itching for something to do. So it's with no surprise that as soon as Ginny comes back from Hermione's and informs her that she's A-OK the previous day (if that Malfoy boy had done something, there'd be hell to pay from her youngest son, she knew) and that she's visiting? Elaborate dinner plans._

_It was very odd not to have Hermione around to complete the circle that was Ron and Harry, she hadn't been round in months. She knew very well it was Ron's fault, that lovely girl was too strong headed to let him forget a mess up so big, though the magnitude or details of what fizzled them out, she still didn't know. She just wished the girl would forgive him already!_

_Nevertheless, she was completely surprised and gleeful that she would see her again tonight, especially because she was alone at home, apparently. What had she eaten, the poor thing? Oh, she would get that belly full up, she would!_

_Satisfied with the prospect, she decides she'll do a crossword in the meantime, waiting for Arthur to hurry his hind from showering. A small smile forms on her lips as she thinks of Arthur's body getting wet; he no doubt singing a Muggle tune while soaping up. He has the classic English frame, a trait she wouldn't have any other way. Yet still shining with youth and handsome features, lined with slight wrinkles, he was paunchy and pale from all that bread and stout. She didn't care though, about his weight; she wasn't exactly winning any prizes herself. In any case, what with the kids gone, their sex life had been renewed with such vigour, she found herself far less uptight than usual, and had made more than a bit of effort on looking nice again. _

_She decides that the puzzle clues are too difficult at the mo, her lustful desire distracting her, and instead flicks to the very back of the paper, for a recipe perhaps Arthur might like. She knows Hermione won't mind. _

_The happiness and smile quickly fades from her face and mind however, when she reaches the trashy tabloid-like division of the _Prophet, _one she scarcely reads, and on principle detests since _Witch Weekly_ has slandered dear Harry. Gossip, she decided, was not her 'thing'. _

_The article in question is by Rita Skeeter, a sensationalist, half-witted journalist, in her opinion. Claiming stupid love matches! And yet here is photographed proof that her beloved Hermione, (the one that her Ron, her Ginny, and her soon-to-be Harry if she had any say in it, ached over) was off gallivanting with her school partner; Draco Malfoy. The son of that disgusting, elitist, no good…._bastard_ of a man. She scanned through the piece and decided she didn't care that his mother was remarrying someone more upstanding, didn't care that he could give up previous blood prejudice , didn't care that he looked genuine and happy (as did she, she had to admit); he was up to something. Definitely. And she could see from the snap in the restaurant, where he kissed her, that he had the Mark. She couldn't let what should be her daughter-in-law stray far from her moral uprightedness. _

_No, no, this would not do at all. This would NOT do._

"_Arthur!" she beckons to the upstairs, with as little malice in her voice so not to alert the sleeping kids. "ARTHUR!" _

"_One moment Molly Wobbles," he calls sweetly. She blushes, the flush reaching her ears. She can now hear his characteristic quick footsteps, and she calms herself as best she can, knowing his pending reaction. It's better to ready him now, instead of later when he reads the piece at work, or if people start talking, the cads. _

_He gets down to the main floor, whistling a vague tune, adjusting his tie, fastening his belt. "What is it my dear?" _

_He enters the room, noticing his wife in her satin housecoat, sitting in the old leather armchair, looking troubled. His smile fades to a frown._

"_It would seem that our Hermione has decided to be rebellious, at least in a social sense, a little late in the game."_

_She points to the pictures resting on her lap, ones so personal, it seems almost grotesque that thousands of people will see such an intimate moment between two people. To have people witness, judge and whisper behind their backs. Hermione is leaning in to the boy, her hand clutching at his bare wrists, pulling him to her, which is why his tattoo is visible. She then grabs his face and kisses him, wherein he takes her hands in his, and returns her affection. If it had been Ron, she would have cooed at the sight. (though obviously not if it was deemed national news. )The other one, in London, Hermione is laughing, her lovely smile spreading out to show her perfect teeth. The boy is rubbing the back of his head, rocking on his heels, clearly happy he roused a laugh, his other hand preoccupied with several carrier bags._

_Molly's stomach tightens at the prospect that that vile boy is toying with her emotions, Godric knows that his father was the expert. Amendments made from cash flowing through the hands of the inherited wealthy to the government, shuns to Arthur from the higher-ups because her family respects all walks of wizards, not just the pure. Lucius Malfoy was the source of all the things Arthur loathes in this world, and now his offspring seemed to be courting the brightest witch for his personal gain, perhaps to re-level the status quo._

_This would simply not do._

_Molly squeezes Arthur's arm as she sees his hateful expression, the red flaring on his cheeks in silent rage. "How can Hermione _possibly_ think that anything good will come of a relationship with – with –"_

_He can't finish._

"_Now, now, I would imagine he's being extremely pleasant to her. People can be very persuasive, enticing even, especially after they'd been rotten towards you. You know very well that she wouldn't give a boy a chance had they not passed her internal test."_

"_Well how could a boy like _that_ pass it? Where Ron seemed to fizzle? He's a bad seed, I tell you, that Malfoy. Just like all of them are."_

"_Arthur, you know that's a harsh statement to make," she soothes, trying to quell his upset. But inside she shares his bitterness, knowing it should be Ron holding her hand, and not some son of a Death Eater._

"_No, it's fact. This boy was ordered to murder Dumbledore, and he actually tried to! Harry said he was nervous, insincere, but he didn't even talk to the headmaster beforehand, he didn't take the protection that would've been offered – what kind of person – I mean, he bullied Ron for years, he's clearly a coward like his father – only cares about status -"_

_He cuts himself off before he explodes and smacks the paper with his hand._

"_He's up to no good."_

"_Yes – yes, I was thinking the same. But I think maybe we should talk with Hermione first, you know, people go through bad phases all the time."_

"_But _Draco _Malfoy? Surely, she can't be that daft. Why would she go to France with him? Can you imagine what could have happened? What has he done to deserve her kindness? Bah! I'll never understand women," he finishes heartily, kissing his wife on the cheek and grabbing his suitcase. "I'm going to the office, this is not something I'd like to witness when Ron finds out, and I don't need to rile him up more with my no doubt agreeable sentiment."_

_Molly had almost forgotten about her son's reaction to all this, and how awful it would be. Perhaps Harry as well, she knew they used to be heated rivals. _

_Lucky her, she got to witness the whole thing._

_She sighed, waved her husband from the household, not bothering a good bye, and walked into the kitchen._

"_RON! HARRY! GINNY? It's breakfast!" she yelled from her spot near the stove. She readied herself for the storm about to brew from her heavy-hearted loves up the staircase, hearing slight rustling through the wooden floors. They were soon to be on a bloodthirsty rampage from the news, without speculation._

_No, this would not do. _

_This scenario was, excuse her vulgarity, a bloody disaster._

{}

"_This eez an outrage! 'Ow could you let zis happen in such a vulgar, tawdry way? Augh!"_

"_You were present at the restaurant, were you not? You saw with your very eyes the staff throw out the man who snapped our photographs! How is this my fault? How was I supposed to know he would follow us!"_

What the fuck is going on downstairs?

I'm laying on my stomach in my bed, blinking my tired eyes open. I note the clock hanging above my door, which is very slightly creaked open. It's only 7:30 AM, for christ's sake.

All I can hear are angry voices in a fit of screaming match, but I'm a bit too groggy to decipher it all.

The main thing on my mind is that my mother is home. And it would appear that my new grandmamma is as well. I wonder what exactly has transpired to make Marie so irate, so irate she has chosen to come to my home, or else made mother uncomfortable enough that she had to return here.

I roll onto my back and exhale a whoosh of air, knowing i`m going to have to settle this matter with my usual charisma. I can no longer hear any conversation, just click clacks of heels that traveled to the parlour, I would assume.

I sit up and walk slowly to my wardrobe across the room, feeling pretty frigid, the outside of the house blowing with whistling wind, as my window suggests from the branches of the elm tree rapping on the glass. Opening its oak doors, one side reveals a grey wool housecoat reserved for fall and winter. I pull it onto my bare chest, only having worn checked bottoms to sleep the previous night.

I sigh before closing the door to my room, resenting the fact that this interrupted a good night's sleep after nearly a week of inns and accidents, longing for my plush black duvet. But I need to defend my mother.

I make my way down the stairs through the entrance room and into the hallway, listening for the fray. I find the commotion not the parlour, but the dining room. My mother is sitting with her head in her hands at the head of the table, while Jean is shielded by Marie, who stands with her hand grasping his arm on the adjacent side. He is obviously wanting to comfort mother, while Gaston is near the crackling fireplace, a cigar lit. Jean's face is shining with trepidation.

Nobody is saying anything.

I knock on the cedar entrance, tentative to enter the tension charged atmosphere, to make my presence known.

Mother looks up, the chair creaking, her long hair swinging around her face as she turns to look at me. She doesn't smile, in fact her expression goes from exasperation to panic.

"_You!_" It comes from the French lady's hostile mouth.

Marie's nostrils flare, I can practically see the steam rise from her ears. She drops Jean's arms like a hot coal and points a finger at me, beginning to saunter over to where I reside.

Mother makes a point to stand up, but since she's on the other side of the room, Marie reaches me first, breathing heavily.

_What the hell?_

Fuck this bitch, I'm standing my ground.

"Yes?" I ask, snidely. "What is your malfunction?"

She emits an angry growl, but always debonnaire, she smooths out her already impeccable jacket and clears her throat.

"My 'malfunction', az you so rudely 'ave put it, iz zat _you _have revealed to ze press zee nature of your mother and my wonderful Jean's relationship! _And _of yours with ze Granger girl! 'Ow could you do zis? Did you 'onestly zink zat aftere everysing you 'ave done in ze past, that you would be able to better ze Malfoy name by chatting up somebody clearly too good for you? Can't you zee wizzout our help, you are nothing? And now you've gone and ruined it; Ha!" she laughs mirthlessly.

"What in blue blazes are you on about?" I ask, anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach.

"Do NOT play stupid!" she cries in her Parisian accent. She marches over to the table, picks up a newspaper I didn't notice until now, and launches it, wherein I catch it as it hits my chest.

_Le Gazette De La Semaine._

It's a weekly French Wizard tabloid-esque publication; it`s the front page. I'm confused until I notice a snapshot of everybody before me in this room walking away from Cerisier the same day I was there with Granger. Marie and Gaston trailing my mother and Jean, who hold hands and look fairly unhappy.

To my horror, a bit down the page there's one of Hermione and I _kissing_. I thought we threw that bastard reporter out!

I scan the article, and it is a biased, non-factual piece about Narcissa Malfoy courting Jean-Pierre Du Pont. A scandal because my father is in jail, she must be cheating on him; and Mr. Du Pont`s recent ex-wife gave an interview last week about how much she's enjoying her new husband, her new life. (Clearly she's his rebound). It goes on basically to say that _obviously _this is a way for mother to get back into the public good side, noting the ring on her finger. The photo zooms in onto the clasped hands to highlight the hefty diamond. It says that Marie and Gaston are simply looking for a way to regain their heaps of money, as Gaston's business has been waning for years now, and Jean is 'stupid' enough to fall for my mother's wits because of her wealth and tartiness by the way she dresses (she's covered up in the picture for Merlin's right testicle), and his desperation to get back at Violet, his ex.

And then at the end, it's a blurb about _me, _and how I also am coerced into the entire operation, that by dating Hermione, I will bring down her reputation of being an intelligent saint, and level up my prestige. Already boiling with rage, the last straw is when I notice the caption to my most intimate moment this year; _Photos courtesy of Gavin Hughes, photographer for the Daily Prophet._

Oh fuck me sideways.

I crumple the paper with my hands and toss is heavily across the room and it misses the flames, landing right in front of the mantle onto the stone floor.

"I _did _not go to some garish, gaudy magazine in fucking France to sell them a story! Why the _fuck _would you think I'd do that to myself _or _my mother!" I yell loudly.

Marie crosses her arms and my mother begins to cry, falling back into the seat.

"I do not appreciate your tone, was your kindness ze other day in ze restaurant merely an act in front of your date? Ze people in ze restarant? Narcissa has _sworn _she 'asn't told anybody, you are ze only other person 'oo knows. Jean told 'er if she let ze news out before it was planned, thanks to our wishes," she points to Gaston, then back to her breast, "she wouldn't 'ave our blessing. It was already a delicate situation when Jean told us who 'e was seeing, what with your appalling 'istory, but zis will simply _not_ do. You 'ave ruined it for your mother, Draco."

Mother now sobbing, Jean attempting to hold her hand, but she shrugging it away, I realize what I've done. This lavish, awful woman has been holding this promise of being a good a mother-in-law and genial grandmother above my mother's head for nearly a year, and that's why she couldn't tell me right away, and why she was probably waiting to tell me when I came home before I found out too soon. They'd have to do a piece for the French public, one they control, which must be why it was so hush hush; blackmail and tears have been gripping my mother for a long time. And now, all that has been destroyed.

This is all my fault.

"Look," I begin, my hands shaking. "I was locked from the Manor, and the _only _way I was able to stay at a – a friend's home is if I had told her why I wasn't able to get inside, and why I was upset. I went to my ex-girlfriend's, who later in the night suggested we be married ourselves! Which is a notion I obviously rejected, as I had feelings for someone else." Mother looks up at me with a mangled expression, sad I didn't inform her. "I had only just learnt that these two were seeing each other, I had no _clue _who Jean even was! I was distraught. How would you feel if your mother told you she was leaving your prison-bound dad? So when I told Paisley Parkinson," my mother cries an audible sob, "the vile mother of my ex about him, when she prodded me about who my mother was seeing, how would I know she'd use it against us? She probably went to the papers because I left her daughter angry and crying, and this is her petty revenge."

As this info comes full circle, I realize that that paparazzo was no random incident. In fact, I _recall _some sketchy man in Muggle London that kept popping up unannounced wherever Hermione and I went, feeling like I was being followed, but shrugged it off as paranoia.

"Well zen you are an idiot for divulging information zo freely to people you dislike. There could 'ave been other options to explore besides going knowingly to a 'ousehold you knew would be reluctant to accept you. You 'ave caused slander to not one, not two, but zree households, Draco," she huffs. " I imagine Miss Grangere will not be pleased with zis development."

I gulp, my inside growing hollow, then lurching tightly with fear.  
She's going to fucking kill me.

This means the Weasel will find out before she tells him, I know the Prophet must've had our kissing picture somewhere in the edition, though not on the front page, I fucking _hope._ The possibility that one of the Weasley's won't find out however, let alone Potter, is laughable.

_Fucking _Pansy.

"I know she won't be pleased, but unlike you, I think she could forgive me!" I reply stupidly. "Can't you see that if you break off the wedding, you'll be doing exactly what the press suspects of you? My mother clearly loves your son if she was willing to be your bitch for a year!"

Marie looks taken aback. "What do you mean, my 'bitch'?"

"My mother is a proud person, she wouldn't submit to doing what _you _say for just anybody. And now because of some bad, falsely accused press, you're running scared. What, was it actually the truth? Do you just want our fucking Galleons? Huh!"

"_Draco, please," _my mother croaks in a weary voice.

"Of course not! Your family eez just infamous and - and _'orrible! _You know 'ow it eez in zis world; it eez all about appearance! And you Malfoy's 'ave lost your shiny glow long ago. 'Ow dare you suggest that we need your wealth more zan you need our status. Gatson, Jean? Allons-y," she spits disgusted.

Gaston follows his alpha-female like a stupid wolf in a pack to where I stand at the door. But Jean stays in his spot.

"Jean," Marie titters huffing.

"I'm not leaving," he mutters, hand still desperately clutching my mother's shoulder.

"_Excusez-moi_?"

"Je ne suis pas quitter," he repeats en francias, calmly.

"You will stand by some, some, _'arpy,_ but not your family?" she asks, and for the first time, her steely demeanour waivers. I can see it in her topaz eyes.

"Family stands by you when you make decision such az who you love, mama. And you 'ave done no such zing. She's made me ze 'appiest I've been in years, she 'az followed your every whim, even zough you 'ave only met zis past week. You 'ang like a shadow over my internal affairs. You always 'ave," he says a little aggressively. "And you fail to see zis, that you damage me, you only care about what everybody else zays about you! Regardless if you're trying to 'elp me, you fail to realize I simply do not care! You only approved of Violet because of her family, but she was a gold-digging _femme fatale, _and now after it 'as gone sour, you take no responsibility for arranging me to wed her. You act like my 'Cissa is the same as she, refusing to see her good points. But I zay that I love her. I love her, maman, papa."

Gaston looks up briefly, uncaring, obviously too buzzed on something to be aware. Marie looks positively shattered, to my satisfaction.

"And I choose 'er over you, if you will not allow us to all live in 'armony, together."

I didn't realize until now that I was holding my breath since he started speaking. My mother has finally decided to show her face, absolutely aghast with what just happened. What he just admitted. I can't fully fathom the courage it must take to distance yourself from your family, your blood. For the sake of something so simple as love.

Marie is struggling for words to say, her mouth twitching between open and closed. She humphs, and turns on her heel, clacking out the door, saying nothing, Gaston following in stride. I notice she wipes her face as she crosses the hall to the front door.

Nobody says a thing until the loud slam of the door reverberates all the way into here.

What god-awful people.

From behind me, I can hear very quietly, 'Oh, _Jean,"_

I turn round and see her nuzzling Jean, clutching at his expensive robes.

And in that moment, I know my mother has finally done away her riddled past of fighting morality, because Jean has set her free. He's shown her he doesn't care about appearances, that she is infinitely more important than how he looks to people he doesn't even know, something father never could have; he'd always tried to smooth things over.

And in that moment, I realize that unless Hermione can convince her friends to give me a chance, that I'll be the one walking away bitterly. Maybe her mum liked me for the hour I met her, but if I can't get Potter or any of the Weasley's approval, or at least a settlement, I'm fucking doomed.

I walk over to the table, where Jean now sits beside my mother, stroking her hand while she insists on finishing her waterworks display.

"I'm really sorry." I say it aloud, yet it feels oddly like an out of body experience, as if I'm a ghost traveling through a stranger's home. Because I am sorry for myself, yet I'm not for my mother. If I hadn't had this happen, perhaps my mother would have suffered being stuck in another submissive relationship where she obeyed because she loves too much.

There's a moment of silence with light sobs.

"You didn't mean it to 'appen. It 'as affected you no doubt as well, 'asn't it?" Jean says, no expression etched on him. "And truth be told, I 'ave always wanted to say zose zings to my maman. Papa 'as always stood by 'er side, agreeing to every little detail, and silly zing she 'as desired, while I 'ad no say; she eez a control freak. Until she learns some 'umility and respect for me, for your mother and now for you, she does not need to be in my life."

A stab of something, perhaps envy, pokes me in the gut. This is a man who is willing to sacrifice tons for something he truly cares about, and it's not himself. He could be me almost, in another life. He feels relatable.

The very prospect of giving up my lap of luxury and security here, of having my own mother's support disappear, is the most daunting, horrifying idea that I could think of. And he just gave it all away as a testament to my mother's love.

"You're a good man, Jean-Pierre." I say. He looks up at me suddenly, curiosity checking out if I am sincere or not. When he sees that I am, he stifles a grin, looking down at nothing.

"So," mother sniffs, and Jean is alert, wary of her needs. She smiles at me. "When are we expecting H- Hermione for dinner?"

I wish, oh I dream, that I could return the happiness in her grin. The _permission _she has just granted me to see whomever I like, thanks to a man I barely know, makes my brain glow anew with thankfulness. But I can't make my body float with pride because the girl whose been driving me crazy, with lust and greed and longing, may soon be forced to dump me in the trash bin.

"I don't know. Possibly never," I reply, looking at the ripped up paper. It almost doesn't feel real, the idea that I was in a tabloid from another land.

"Why ever not?"

"She's very close to her friends, very loyal, a true Gryffindor," I reply gruffly. "And her previous boyfriend, that Ron Weasley, still loves her. And unlike Pansy, he regretfully understands the concept of love better than to pick her for her blood."

"So what does that have to do with you dating her?"

I look up at the ceiling, rolling my eyes. "A lot," I laugh hollowly.

"Sit," my mother commands, patting the table on the placement of the chair beside her.

Reluctantly, I obey, and saunter over to the chair, across from Jean. I sit down, and she grabs my hand, her other occupied with her fiancées.

She has a shaky smile, trying hard not to cry, hopefully from happiness rather than anguish.

"Explain to me what you're going through, love," she asks.

"Why do you want to know so badly?" I ask shaking my head.

"Because for once, you are upset over something I can discuss with you. You are fussed over a girl, something I wished you were able to experience earlier in life, rather than fretting over some things completely detrimental to your sanity and life. This is miles away from Death Eater duties," she pulls a face. "I thought you liked that Parkinson girl, but truth be told, she was very annoying like her mother. And when she was cooing over your nuptials, your father and I almost had a heart attack. I'm so very happy you've moved on."

I genuinely laugh, and she squeezes me palm.

"Thanks, mother," I reply. "I don't know how you'll help though."

"Try me," she muses.

"Well, alright, you asked. Sorry Jean," I note to him, and he shrugs, content to simply sit there. "I am not dating Hermione. Not for certain. I've discovered she likes me, before she said she liked the way I looked, but was on the fence about my personality. And I couldn't blame her, I'd feel the same given what I did. But she, uh, kissed me in a way one wouldn't if you were reserving your judgement." She gives me a knowing look and I flush. "I really enjoy her company, though. I'm fairly certain the feelings' mutual. I just don't know where the hell I stand, for once in my life, I feel inadequate next to somebody, like I've met my match. At the same time, I feel my inner anger just melt away when we're together, it could be because we listen to music often, and tons of witty banter is included. But that's not it. She actually cares about me in a way that my friends before hadn't, they weren't willing to let their guard down. I just – she just drives me crazy!"

"Sounds like you are a smitten kitten," Jean adds out of the blue, and mother giggles.

"I think he may be right." I humph, too stubborn to reply.

"Clearly, she likes you, she seemed to in the restaurant. So why wouldn't she be able to persuade her friends on such a handsome boy like yourself?"

Mother's can be so oblivious. I choke out a laugh.

"So - I've been less than her friend for years, and even though I was _forced_ to be her enemy the past few, there's a lot of unspoken ugliness from our past that her friends could use as a weapon to distract her from me. She's never done much, it's all been me. I've verbally assaulted her, and done way worse to her friends, mostly because the company she keeps is _Potter_, and because I was jealous of her intellect."

My mother shakes her head.

"Have you apologized to anyone?"

"Er-"

"_Draco." _

"I said I would! She should know I'm sorry by now, I apologized to her and I'd do it twice again if she so desired, I just haven't had the chance. I'm merely worried of the fact that she may tell me she can't be with me more than an acquaintance, and we still have to finish our project," I confess, feeling my chest dart with anxiety.

"Sweetheart, if she's as smart as everyone says, she's not going to let a paper ruin a budding relationship or jeopardize a good grade."

My mother's usually cold eyes are filled with warmth, she's trying. She's trying for _me. _When before, Hermione would be an obstacle in the way of her baby boy's future.

"Well, I hope you're right."

"I am. I know I am. When will you see her next?"

"Tomorrow." God, that's too far away, I'm so nervous that she's going to get hurt by Weasley, or that I'm going to show up at her door unable to kiss her.

"And what will you do today?"

"Go back to sleep, I'm just going to fidget otherwise, and Merlin, it's barely 8. Who's up at this hour?"

"Well, my apologies for waking you up," she says, but Jean cuts in.

"No, Narcissa, I am sorry Draco, zat my parents are …."

"Disagreeable?"

"Mais, oui," he chuckles.

"Okay, well, I forgive you. As long as you love my mother, I always will," I say sincerely. "I'll be down later, I need to pay a certain Parkinson a visit, but I'm exhausted. Good night….morning. Enjoy your newly invested privacy."

They look at each other, almost wickedly, and I turn to exit, not wanting to interrupt their moment.

"Draco, let me know when you're leaving, I'd like to have a word with Paisley as well."

"I will."

I return upstairs into my room, feeling surreal at the past 20 minutes. I discard my robe and fall into my unkempt bed, thoughts of what tomorrow and this afternoon will bring taunting my thoughts. However, I'm so exhausted that after mere seconds, my eyelids close and my dreams overtake me, filled with sweet lips and violin playing.

I pray to any god in the sky and on earth that I'll be given a second chance. I know I don't deserve it, but I need it more than anything.

* * *

I make the finishing touches by adding a ribbon to the braid in my hair and look at the overall effect. I'm standing in front of my wardrobe mirror; I've tried to make an extra effort to look presentable today, yesterday I looked unkempt and horrific. I'm wearing a red top with beige corduroys, and a black blazer to top it off. I want to look good, but _not _sexy.

Around my neck is a ruby pendant that my parents gave me for Christmas two years ago. The jewellery box contained a note citing that this particular gem represents love; especially in friendship, so while I'm not a big believer in that nonsense, I can take all the help I can get at this current junction.

I haven't managed to get my hair tamed since it being completely mussed after the infinite snog sessions I had last night, so after a failed conditioning attempt, to keep the strands from my face is the best attempt. I smile at the memory of yesterday, Draco's smirking face, his curved lips. This quickly fades to dread in my stomach, knowing once and for all today's the day.

I'm going to tell Harry and Ron about Malfoy.

They deserve to know, they deserve my explanation and for me to answer any questions they might have.

I grab my purse, tuck my wand in my pocket, and gather my wits before making my way to the closet at the front door, donning some calf length boots.

Before I go, I check my phone, knowing it won't work in Ottery St. Catchpole, and see a text from Andrea. I called her late last night and explained the situation, and she didn't help me, merely cooed over the progress, but she calmed me enough to not lose my sanity.

_Good luck, love! Don't succumb to fear, you are a strong, confident woman, and nobody can tell you what to do xx_

I shake my head smiling and text back: _Thanks! I'll let you know how it goes x_

Which will probably be horrific.

I replace the phone onto the banister, turning it off. When I step outside and lock my door in one swift thought I focus on the forest a 5 minute hike away from the Burrow.

Brief suffocation follows, then relief.

As my feet regain their stability, I whiff the crisp spring air, patches of snow covering the dirt. I make my way to the very top off the sloped ground, which then turns into a hill, the Weasley household residing at the bottom like a diamond in the roughage of field.

I clear my head as I walk down it, thinking of nothing but the beautiful wintry scenery, and listening to the sounds of nature; wind, birds and footsteps.

I try to look in to the windows of the home, but it's rather cloudy today, and it's oddly dim. As I near it, it's uncharacteristically quiet.

Must be because only the younger kids are home….right? No, there should always be commotion. Everything feels off.

My whole body can sense a change in aura as I reach the crooked doorframe.

Before I can even knock, it's whooshed open to reveal Molly, who looks slightly deranged.

"_Hermione!" _she begins a tad too warmly.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," I reply, going in to give her a hug.

She doesn't lean in, in fact she's frozen to the spot.

_I_ then freeze with my arms out, looking like a ninny without an explanation as to her refusal to greet me. I cross my arms, a little embarrassed, but shrug it off.

"Er, anything wrong?"

"Well –" she hesitates. "_No_, no nothing. Come on in," and she disappears into the house.

I drop my bag and shoes to the floor, and go to the living room, hoping I find Harry or Ginny to explain this odd behaviour. Before I get there, Mrs. Weasley stops me out of nowhere, grabbing my upper arm, making me jump out of my skin.

_Merlin's baggy pants, what is the matter?_

"Oh, Hermione dear, don't go in there at the moment."

"Why?"

"Um – there are a few doxies in there, you don't want to see them, - with the eggs and everything."

Are a few vermin really worth all the fuss?

'Oh, well I could go in there, I'm not sure if you've ever had to deal with it, but there's a not too complicated spell you can cast –"

"It's fine, it's fine, love, just, why don't you come upstairs to see Ginny, she's been really wanting to –"

"HERMIONE."

A loud feral yell comes sounding from the upstairs, and Molly and I both look to the source of the noise.  
It's Ron.

I can see his red face looming on the third floor, and the whole house seems to quake as his tall thunking strides smack the baseboards.

I'm paralyzed with terror. He looks livid.

I look to my right and Molly is in the same position as me; stagnant.

"_I thought he was down _here_,"_ she breathes more to herself than me.

"What the bloody _fucking _hell were you thinking? _Are_ you thinking? Huh!"

He's made his way down the last few steps, his cheeks scarlet, his green eyes with a watery sheen, and his teeth in a snarl. He stops before me, casting me into a shadow and I have no idea why. No idea what to say, or what action to take.

"Ron - what are you talking about?" I finally gulp, very quietly. I've _never _seen him like this.

"Oh, I take it you haven't seen the _happy _news yet – brilliant!" he laughs like a maniac in an asylum, no trace of mirth.

"_What? _News?"

"HARRY!" he barks, "Bring it down, our guest is here!"

_What haven't I seen?_

The happy news?

"Ron, that's no way to talk to a lady, let alone friend. Now –"

"Mum, I'm sorry, but this doesn't concern you! And she asked for it, she wants to know why I'm so delightfully proud of her," he addresses her in a high pitched voice. "So stay out of it!"

"Ronald Weasley, don't you _dare_ use that tone with me!"

"That _tone? _You think I'm just going to welcome in somebody who hides secrets, someone who I've fought for, and doesn't even notice or care! Now that there's nobody to hurt her, she just does whatever she bloody well pleases without any thought of the consequences."

I suddenly catch on to what he means, feeling pale. _He knows._

_How does he know!_

"If she wants to _snake _her way into being accepted by different, awful people, then she very well can try, but I won't be so nice anymore. I'm not going to wait."

The double entendre finalizes my whim; he knows! Oh my god.

Oh.

My GOD.

Harry appear out of nowhere, looking grim. He meets my frightened gaze evenly, then shakes his head, evidently repulsed with me, and slams a piece of newspaper into my hands.

"How could you?" is all he says. He gives an outward sigh of disgust and turns round to go back up the stairs to Ginny's room.

"Well, go ahead; _Read it_."

"_Merlin, help us," _Mrs. Weasley whispers, crossing herself with eyes closed as I can see from the corner of my eyes. However, she stays put, watching me with a horrified expression.

I slowly pull the page in front of my face, feeling more like a viewer of a drama series than an actual participant. It's the 'Gossip' column of the _Prophet._

And underneath a bolded headline, is _me. _With Draco.

In France, and in London. Kissing him, and laughing with him.

Our intimate moments splayed out for entertaining the masses.

I find the article difficult to read with shaking hands rattling the print, but the gist of it is that there is speculation of our relationship, and whether it is me being the 'bad girl' or him being the 'good boy'. It also speaks about his mother briefly and Jean.

My heart drops into stomach, lurching and causing me nausea. This is _awful. Everyone _is going to see this.

_Everyone._

And I _know _for a fact that Pansy or her mother informed Miss Skeeter, that – that_ bitch! _That horrid, will sink to the level of a rat, no good - _augh!_

_Oh my god_. Has _Draco _seen this?

What is he going to do when he finds it? What will his _mother _do? His poor mother, finally getting on to the right track.

More relevantly, what am _I _going to do now?

With shaky breaths I look at Ron again. His jaw is set, his arms are crosses, his anger omnipresent.

"_Well?"_

I say nothing.

"What? Suddenly too good to speak to me, like your slivery new _boyfriend. _What the fucking hell, Hermione? I was at your house yesterday, and you didn't have the decency to tell me you were lusting after the ferret?"

"I – I was r-really nervous, Ron. I knew you wouldn't be able to understand."

"Understand? No, no I don't. Clearly, you're deluded, or perhaps you secretly want to make me jealous? You just _love _torturing me, apparently."

"Ron! I do not!" His words cut me like a blade, and I know I deserve them.

"YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME. You didn't even tell me, or _Harry, _or Ginny for Salazar Slytherin's sake! What could you possibly see in a retch like him?"

"Plenty," I counter, attempting to stand my ground.

"Ha! Like what? Money? Pretty shallow if you ask me, and you move pretty fast too though, don't you? First Dean, and now Malfoy? How utterly _revolting. _Is it because he jinxed me, and _saved _you_?_ You make me sick."

"_Ron. _I came over here to try and explain to you what happened, today. Yesterday, I wasn't ready."

"Yes, well you _never _are, are you? Yet you're ready to do reckless things? What has gotten in to you this year? Dating boys you hardly know? Going to France with your best friend's mortal enemy? Are you _mad?"_

"No, actually I'm not."

"Prove it, then."

"_Fine_," I reply icily. "But I'd like Harry here too, so he knows how I feel."

"Mum, would you fetch Harry for us, _please?" _Ron bites. "We'll go into the living room."

Mrs. Weasley shakes her head, but surprisingly grits her teeth and retreats to the top floor. I whip around and ignore Ron as I sit in a single seat by the fireplace that's cackling, barely any wood on it.

Ron pulls me _in_ the bloody chair to the middle of the room, like I'm being interrogated, facing the long couch he sits on.

After excruciating silent minutes, Harry appears with Ginny, who refuses to look at me or acknowledge my existence. Molly tells us she's going to lie down for a bit, she doesn't want to interfere, though I _know _she's aching to, and exits the room.

"So, go on. Explain yourself," Ron challenges, his stare splitting me apart, and I sweating bullets of guilt and shame. He's placed the paper on the coffee table, mocking me from afar; the constant repeat of myself kissing Draco an ugly reminder that every single person in Hogwarts will know and judge me before I can enlighten them.

"_Draco," _I enunciate, purposely biting at Ron's wounds, "confessed that he liked _me _first_. _That was Sunday. Our previous encounter, as I already clarified yesterday, was rather pleasant. He was leagues away from that awful boy we once knew, and appeared a completely different soul altogether."

Ron grunts, but I continue. "It so happens that I've been conflicted over the past few months or so on my attraction towards _him._" Ginny darts a confused look at me, then quickly away again.

"You _liked him?" H_arry blurts out, then snaps his jaw shut.

"No, I found him _aesthetically_ pleasing," I reply, raising my eyebrows to differentiate the two, embarrassed.

"But Dean, a more worthy person, asked me out first, and Ron went and ruined that, didn't he?"

"I'd rather you date Dean than that monster!" Ron spits.

"No, actually, you don't," I laugh haughtily. "You'd rather me stay single unless I see _you!"_

He flushes harder than he already was "You'll go out with anybody that pays you a compliment, won't you? You were all over Krum when clearly he just wanted to shag you because you didn't fawn all over him!"

"You haven't read what he's written me, so I don't think you have any sense in the matter," I reply, thoroughly insulted. What a _cad_.

"Oh, I don't, do I? Because I'm such an idiot?

"Viktor, as he so recently revealed to me; is _gay." _I recall the letter Viktor sent me during the summertime; he was distraught over a boy in his Quidditch league. Obviously its forbidden to copulate with people on your team, and frowned upon in Eastern Europe to be openly gay (in the Wizard community) unfortunately. He told me what he saw in me was admiration, and intellect, and while he enjoyed our chaste kisses and companionship, he wasn't in love with me like Ron thinks.

"_What_?" Ron asks disbelieving.

"Yes; _gay. _And Dean, while very _nice, _was all compliments, flattery and jealousy; clearly if he was going to fight you on our first date, he hasn't learned the idea of personal space like when he was with Ginny. He's a great friend, but he's a little possessive like someone else sitting in the room."

"Yeah, because I_ love you. _I fucking LOVE YOU, Hermione. _I want you back._" He buries his face in his hands, and begins to sob.

Guilt stabs me everywhere, my mind reeling of fond memories with the ginger boy in front of me.

"_Ron," _I whisper, tears of their own forming in my pupils. I reach out to touch his hand, but he bats it away. He sniffs and wipes his face.

"I spent the whole summer filled with regret about how I treated you that night, hoping we could resolve it on the train and then you didn't seem to care about me the same way."

I glance at Harry, who seems lost about whether to stay or go, and when he sees me looking at him, forms a steely resolve to stay for moral support.

"Ron, maybe I _regret _what happened between us and how we are now, maybe I regret always being so high strung and always searching for the right and proper way to go about things before doing them. But you never _once _owled me. You didn't chase me as you're so ready to do now. Neither did _any _of you," I say, choking back tears and spilling out feelings I never realized I felt until now.

"I always had to initiate it, and when sent back a reply, I got 'Ron isn't ready for it yet.' So I didn't come over, I didn't pry. I spent months without friends. Why? Because I wanted you to be comfortable, and you know what? I am so _sick _of the fact that we can't be separate. Why can't Harry and I hang out, or Ginny and I? Or even _you _Ron, without each other? Since when did it all have to be some package deal of all or nothing? Huh? !" I cry, bitterness at the forefront of my emotions. "Did you ever stop to think that I was _scared_ that night, Ron_? _That I hated worrying about if you loved me or not_. _But I realized something about that night a few nights ago, that I didn't the whole summer, the whole fall. I was so worried about you loving me, because my feelings had shifted while we were together. The curtain fell down on what I dreamed it would be like to be with you."

"_W-what do you mean?" _Ron asks.

I take a deep breath. "You weren't what I fantasized for so long, just as I wasn't for you. And don't you deny it; you thought I wouldn't be insecure, just like _I _thought you'd be able to wait for me to be sexually ready."

"Look! I'm _sorry_ I didn't reveal anything about Lavender, it was difficult!"

"I _know, _I forgive you, alright? The fact is, you hate my hobbies, and I hate yours; where're the similarities? We have _none _besides being friends with Harry, and besides schoolwork or defeating Voldemort. After that, what've we got? You hate reading, politics, human rights, music even, and especially school. I _love _all those things, while I hate Quidditch, chess, and trivial things like jokes or tricks."

"So? You like _me, _not my interests!" he counters, out of anger, filled with sadness.

"Yes, I do like you. I _love _you too, but not romantically. You are the most loyal, bravest, _yes _brave as Harry," I say when he scrunches his face at me, "and greatest friend anybody could possibly ask for. You stuck with Harry through everything, despite feeling scared or feeling inadequate. It's why I fell for you, after all. But I don't think a long term romantic relationship can happen between us."

"_But why?" _ he asks broken. Tears fall down my face as I reveal the truth.

"Because it doesn't feel meant to be."

"And it feels meant to be with _Malfoy?" _The angry voice is Harry, not Ron. Ginny too is staring at me with criticism and resentment.

"That's not what I said," I reply meekly.

"But there you are, snogging him like some flitty school girl in a foreign country! That isn't you! He's using you!"

"How do you know what I am!" I reply incensed. "He's not using me, because he let me in; he opened up to me, and if he wanted to gain status or whatnot, why divulge information that I can use against him later if he got me angry? Draco is the first person to help me understand who I am! And you know how? Through talking to me about what _I _wanted to. Everybody around me listens but they don't hear, they write me off as being too smart for my own good or stupid and thinking I'm merely good at memorization. A know-it-all. Well let me tell you something – Ron, I explained to him what happened between us - "

"Oh, bloody hell!"

"And he was on YOUR side. He's the one to open my eyes to the fact that I can't _always _be ready for everything, that some things you can't prepare and plan for."

"But I could've told you that!" Ron retorts.

"BUT YOU DIDN'T!" I scream. "Listen to me for once! Let me finish!"

"We are," Ginny finally chimes in, fettered by her pulsing temper. "It hurts me you think you can't talk to us."

"I _do, _but not on a deeply intellectual level. You lot don't _want _to, and I _get _it, I understand it's boring for you, which is why I don't press it, but I _need it! _Can't you understand that? Before L-Lupin died, he was the only person who liked doing that sort of thing. And now, Draco _will, _he – he keeps me laughing, keeps arguing with me so I can truly find my point of view on matters, but can keep most of his actual temperament out of it for a debate purpose. And you don't know how that feels."

"How what feels?" Ginny asks, still restraining herself.

"To have someone completely _get _you, and how you work."

"As a matter of fact, I _do." _She replies, pointing to Harry, who is staring at me with an unreadable look.

"What about Ron?" Harry asks. "You cried for weeks when he left last year, could barely function without him."

"True, because I missed him, he disappointed me when he used to be my knight in shining armour. Ron has always known me and how I am, but I don't think he knew how to deal with me, because we constantly bickered, always fought."

"But you resolved it! Always."

"Yeah, no thanks to you! Whose side were you on when the going got tough? HIS. I was always cast aside, bros before hoes I suppose, yes?" I rage.

"What about ME?" Ginny explodes finally, standing up, hair and eyes wild. "Didn't I help you? I talked to you for an _hour _on the train about Ron, and you still couldn't find it in you to talk to me about how you felt about _Draco," _she says unbelievably. "is that what you wanted to talk about in your room? And you lied again, couldn't bring it out of your system?

"Given his past history, no, I couldn't. I came over today to try and explain it to you all rather than merely showing up to school to exclaim it, I actually _care _about your feelings, unlike the way you're portraying me."

"But HERMIONE," Harry interjects, rising as well, leaving Ron to stare blankly ahead, upset. "This is a boy who plotted against _Dumbledore, _I know, I know, by accident, but STILL. He almost killed Katie Bell, and he nearly poisoned RON. He tormented all of us through the years, and purposely joined organizations like the Inquisitorial Squad to further annoy us. And then, he still tried to thwart us as petty revenge for his stupid father during a WAR, and we had to save his stupid arse TWICE. Has he apologized or thanked me? NO! And I didn't kill him at school only because of you telling me that you thought I liked Ron more; to help ease your project experience, and from his jealousy, I tried to help keep Ron at bay!"

"I know, okay, _I know! _He did it all for the sake of his family, you need to understand that –"

"And himself! He's as selfish as they come, and you know it."

"I do, but he also apologized to me, and he said he'd apologize to you. _All _of you. His father is in Azkaban, rightfully so, but his mother is divorcing him and has a fiancée he just found out about, he's really distraught. Harry, he came to Muggle London, he is rid of his prejudices. He's so _different_ it's scary."

"But he's _still _the boy who made me get expelled from Quidditch, who didn't care that Umbridge would use an illegal spell on me, who constantly put down my girlfriend and best friend's family any chance he got. His ego is bigger than his remorse, it always will be, regardless if he has some kind of caring bone in his body, his damage is permanent."

"But it's _not._ I've tried forgiving him, why can't you?_"_

"You choose to believe that he will be different because you are trying to justify yourself liking him."

"He _is _different."

"HE'S A BLOODY DEATH EATER!" Ron yells.

"He adapted to the environment he was thrust in! His father was in too deep for him to just _stop _being involved with Voldemort! He was forced to do it or be killed, along with his parents! What would you have done?"

"I'd have told Dumbledore, gotten him to help me," Harry retorts.

"But he wasn't _you, _nobody was close to him except you! Everyone hates the Slytherin's on principle, who would've taken him seriously?"

"Well if he wasn't such an asshole –"

"He isn't anymore! And I _like _him, that's not going to change, Harry – Ron, and I wanted to tell you that I'll be seeing more of him, whether you liked it or not, but I thought we could all get together to ease into it."

"Fat fucking chance. You disgust me."

Ron's bitter, broken-down tone plunges a knife into my chest.

"I think you should leave," Ginny adds, fiendishly. "This will only get worse."

"You can't convince us, Hermione. Why suggest having a playdate? That will only result in violence." Harry sighs frustrated.

"Why can't you try, for _me? Please?"_

"HA! You betray us and expect we'll comply to your wishes? How uncharacteristically foolish. I'm done trying for you, Hermione."

"But –"

"I fucking hate that no good pureblood _asshole, _so I suggest you stop talking about him and get the _hell _away from me. You're probably tainted from touching him, after all."

"_Ron."_

"Look – it's non-negotiable. I don't want to talk about him anymore. And I don't want to see you anymore today – you ruined our dinner plans, you pretty much decided to fraternize with the enemies of my whole family, and you don't really realize the full capacity of it. So go, so I can just fucking catch my sanity. Cause I have little left."

With his final word, I try to stand up with dignity, and walk firmly to the front door, grabbing my things, putting on my shoes.

And I say no words as I walk out that door, and my resolve fully diminishes as I let the tears fall all the way to the apparition spot, and back to an empty home, having lost the only true friends I ever had. I collapse to my knees at the front door, into a sprawling mess.


	33. Sweet Vengeance

**Do you never wonder?**

**No, no, no, no;  
You girls never know, oh, no, you girls will never know  
No, you girls never know how you make a boy feel.**

**- No You Girls, ****Franz Ferdinand**

* * *

"How could you all let her just walk away like that? Ronald Weasley, how _dare_ you tell a guest to simply _leave! _In fact, every single one of you should feel ashamed. I heard the things you said to her, what kind of friends _are _you? Anger shouldn't get the best of you all the time. For Merlin's sake, do you realize that by pushing her away, you're just thrusting her into his arms?"

"We _know_, mum," I retort exasperated, leaning my head back onto the couch I now reside in.

Harry and Ron are sitting on the wooded floor against the couch, and I think collectively, we feel like idiots.  
Ron wears the crown, but I'm at least a jester in the matter.

I can't process all the things that I said to her.  
I was just so _angry _that she couldn't tell me! We tell each other everything!

Mum is berating us for such uncouth behaviour, but to be honest, at the time I really felt like she deserved it. I know it's not her fault that somebody took pictures of her and _ugh, _'Draco', but she shouldn't be sneaking around, right?

God, we're arses.

"Well you'd all better think of something to do if you want her back. I tried not to intervene because it's not my business who she chooses to date, and I don't know him the way you do, but I have reservations about that boy, and if I see her get hurt at the hand of him? I'd probably feel _half_ as horrible and guilty as all of you will. Now, use your capable heads and _fix it!" _Mum storms off into the kitchen, probably going to cook up a storm as her therapy.

"Should we go upstairs then?" Ron inquires, "To try and salvage whatever it is we have now with Hermione?"

When nobody says anything, "_Hello?"_

"I don't know. I'm just so angry at her right now," Harry says, expressively shoving his arms out. "I don't know how to feel. How to resolve this."

"Well unless you want Mum to hear all about our stupid teenaged drama, allons-y." I swish my hair, and stomp my way up the stairs to Ron's room.

"Shall we?" Harry asks Ron sardonically, taking a deep breath.

He nods, saying nothing. We walk in silence to the second floor, and into the light blue hues of Ron's walls. I sit on the bed with crossed legs, and Harry goes to sit next to me, grabbing my hand, while Ron rolls his eyes at the love taking over her bed and takes a seat on the bay windowsill.

"So?"

"So what?" I reply to Harry.

"What are we going to do about Hermione?"

"Do about her? You mean, how are we going to apologize. I thought _you_ were the master of strategy. And seeing as Ron is the biggest offender here, why don't you have any plan of action, dear brother?"

"Me?" Ron asks hotly, "why am _I _the biggest offender? You're the one who told her to leave in the first place!"

"Yeah, because steam was practically coming out of your ears. You would've done way worse damage had we not let her go then. You should be thanking me."

He blushes red, knowing I'm right. Seriously, I _know_ I can be such a bitch_. _But stupid Ron! If he was over Hermione we'd have a much easier time trying to convince her to second guess her choice of companion.

"I think what we need to figure out first is _why _we're angry at her, and so if we confront her we can actually tell her coherently, otherwise you know she's just going to hate us," Harry says.

"Well, we _were_ pretty mean," I mumble, brushing a stray hair from my face.

"But you have to admit though," Ron adds, "Some of it was justified. I mean, she had plenty of opportunities to tell us about ferret boy, and she even lied to your face Ginny, when you went upstairs to talk with her yesterday. She was out with him the night before, and she felt guilty she didn't tell us about it. She probably wanted to tell you, and she didn't."

"Yeah, for a good reason. _You."_ God, he's so idiotic sometimes.

"What d'ya mean, me?"

"Come on, are you going to act that daft, Ron?" I huff. "You worry about her a lot, and clearly Hermione knows that, but she told you numerous times she wasn't ready to get back together. And obviously from what she said today, she's been contemplating it for a while. She came to tell us today, didn't she? She didn't want it to be hidden because she actually cares about you. She just doesn't want to date you right now, and by perseverance, though normally a good approach, you're just alienating her further."

"I just want her to see that I_ love _her, though! Is that really that bad? I mean, _surely _you can't think _Malfoy _is a more suitable companion than me."

"Well, no, of course not. But right now _she _does. And honestly, after what she said, isn't she a bit right about you not being that compatible?" I state gently.

"I – I, I dunno, _maybe. _But I still care for her, and I don't want her to date him."

"Neither do I, but clearly we all messed up somewhere on the communication front."

"How so?" Harry finally interjects, eyebrows piqued.

"We are dysfunctional without her stroppiness to set us straight, aren't we? We all get hot headed, and she does as well, but she's far more logical than us. She's like our own personal therapist. She just belongs with us in the group, to be there when our heart gets the best of us, and we took it for granted."

"But I _didn't, _I know without her we wouldn't have been able to do anything for the past 7 freaking years!" Harry says, raising his voice.

"Yes, but maybe nobody told her that? Reminded her often enough? She was right when she said Ron and she had nothing in common. And _don't _interrupt me," I point at Ron, who in turn crosses his arms. "We don't have anything in common with her either, do we? I know I don't, besides being in Gryffindor. You guys became her friend in the first place by having an odd run in that caused you being friends, that's _it_."

"But why didn't she confide this to us earlier? I mean, if she felt so alone, so unappreciated, why not tell me? Or _Ron_?"

"Because she _didn't _feel alone. She did all these amazing things with us, her 'amazing' friends. And she felt important and useful. She told _me_ that her biggest fear is failure_, _because you're blokes and I'm the only girl she's close to, she felt like she could confide in me," I state proudly. "She probably feels like a failure now just by dating some guy we hate. When she shouldn't feel bad, _we_ should for not giving her a chance. Or hearing her out."

"But, how can just that have made her feel so used or like she failed?"

"Think about it; You two use her for homework help all the time. I do too, sometimes. You relied on her last year to do all these complicated things that you couldn't do, that you didn't know. And I'm not saying that you both did nothing, it was a team effort, but from what she told me, it was really stressful for her to do so much when you were out in the wilderness. Yet she did it because she wanted to be the best friend she could be. To stand by your sides through the storm. But sometimes you weren't so great of friends, and lately I haven't been a saint either. And don't deny it, though you've been trying, whenever she and Ron got in a petty fight she was cast aside, Harry. You hung out with Ron, not her. And Ron, you walked out on her for agreeing to be with Harry til the end. Yet for girl advice or any other consultation you would've still asked her for her help, and she never held it against you."

"Okay, thank you for that wondrous blow to my ego, but why is this relevant to her dating Malfoy?"

"It has _everything _to do with it. She exploded today, she let feelings out she hadn't been able to in a while. And instead of hearing her side of it, we all ganged up on her for _dating _someone. It's not like she married him or, or suddenly proclaimed to be against all wizards or something that dramatic. The press just likes to jab at people when they have no juice left, I mean it was _Skeeter, _Harry you know very well how shitty it is to be a victim of that, we _all _do. Nowadays, the writing has always been something positive, and nobody could've seen the nastiness of that pair coming."

"I still don't see how her feeling some resentment towards me or Ron would make her date Malfoy?"

"Clearly, he was giving her what Ron didn't."

"Ginny, don't even start! I don't want to hear any of this bloody bullshit."

"No, you _don't_ start_." _I retort firmly, giving him a look that says 'please'. "She said they have tons in common, she said that he understood her in a way we didn't. That's huge, it's a catastrophic even, for us. That's the way I would describe Harry, Ron, and I don't want to place the blame on you, but didn't she tell you all the time what she felt was missing from your relationship? Something you could do to change?"

"Well –" He can't lie. "Well, yeah. She wanted to talk about boring things like _feelings. _And whether or not the Ministry should pass Section C on the Bill of Wizard Rights. I mean, how was I supposed to relate to that? That's not me! She knows that."

"God, Ron, you _try. _On the train home, she said that it felt like if you had sex with her, then maybe to _you _the relationship would be justified, it would really feel real. But she's known you for ages, and it felt like an old friend she was lying in bed with, not a lover. That's why she wanted to talk about feelings. Why she wanted to know if you love her. If Malfoy was kind to her, lord knows he hasn't been any other time, it's a weird change of mind he creates in _her _mind. She said he opened up to her about whatever it is that makes him unbearable, and now that charm that he has always used on other people who didn't know any better has cast her under his spell."

He gulps.

"And by us pushing her away, as mum said, she's going to go to him. Because lately, we haven't been the best of friends, have we? I feel so awful I didn't owl her more in the summer. Fuck, Ron, w_hy _didn't you owl her?"

"Don't push everything on _me!_ I regret it, okay? But Harry was just as livid as I was that she was kissing that pea brain. Maybe it is a little too late for me to reconcile everything, but I want to because Hermione makes me feel like a better person, she makes me feel like I'm worth something. I can't shake this infatuation, the thought that if I just had her back with me, everything would be alright. And I don't know if I'm ready to let that go."

"Well, you're going to have to figure out what to do soon, I don't want to lose her as a mate," Harry interjects. "You realize that with Quidditch season already upon us, she's going to be spending all her free time with him? Slytherin's had to forfeit this year, and that's why it's taken so long for us to set matches? We're _all _on the team, and she isn't."

"Fuck," Ron mumbles.

"You have to decide if it's in your best interest to just settle and let her do what she wants for now, Ron. I hate that git, but she doesn't want you at the moment Ron, I'm sorry. And she was always the most understanding person, besides you love, and always was there to listen. I tried to help, but I guess it wasn't enough. I'm pretty rotten at advice giving. You clearly understand what she's going through, don't you, Gin? It just doesn't change the fact though, that I'm still upset." Harry is controlling his speech pitch, I recognize it. This is really bothering him.

"Why are you so upset though, babe?" I ask softly.

"You first, I'll probably be the most unpleasant."

"Er, Ron?" I ask, avoiding the question. They may not really get it, what I have to say; they're _boys _after all.

"I think it's pretty clear why I'm upset with her," he retorts snarkily. "She's dating my mortal enemy when I still have feelings for her. Whatever those feelings are. Now, I'm curious Ginny, why are _you_ so angry? Usually you're on her side."

"Well, it's Malfoy for one. Besides him being a hapless moron, he's hurt us a little too much in the past. But two, I wasn't even that angry she was dating him, rather, it was because she felt she couldn't tell me. She liked him for nearly two months, she even tried to cover it up by dating another guy, and she couldn't once let it out. She told me about Viktor, she told me about you even Ron. She told me everything, like I did to her. She's the goddamn reason Harry and I are together today, because she told me to relax a bit, take it slow, didn't she? I know she always feels the need to be in control, which is why it took so damn long for her to make a move when you didn't. If you don't share your inner worries eventually you'll explode.  
And even though she admitted she realized she has inadequacy issues, Malfoy is the one helping her with it, not us, her supposed friends. She's amazing, that girl, and I don't want her to hide from me, or from any of us. I don't want her to make the wrong decisions due to us staying away; because Malfoy is really conniving. Who knows what he's thinking? What he's made her think already?"

A small tear rolls down my cheek at the thought. Harry kisses my forehead, and then clears his throat.

"Of course we don't want her to go away. The reason I'm so bothered is because it pains me that she doesn't seem to remember everything he's done. It's pretty effing difficult for me to just forgive and forget if she wants to see him often _and _stay friends with his enemies. How will that work at school? Is it really worth it to have us be courteous and guarded every time we talk with him? He doesn't trust anyone. He was the worst bully with that blade of a tongue he has, and he only did it because he was insecure, and I know it. He hated me because I wouldn't be his friend to 'elevate his status', he picked on you Ron because you were my best friend, and because you aren't rich like he is, to rub it in your face for no damn good reason. Sure, we were mean to him as well, but I wouldn't have been if he wasn't such an ass! He was a coward! He tried to kill Dumbledore! He ambushed us in the Room of Requirement for what? Petty revenge for his useless father? And then we saved his ass, twice, with no thanks in return. His family was horrible to Dobby, he wanted Buckbeak killed too, has Hermione forgotten that? That's her sore spot, creature rights, and she thinks it's okay that he's done the worst? What the _hell _merits him a free pass to be friendly with her?"

Harry is so riled up now, he's breathing like a raging bull.

I sigh, knowing I'm going to have to explain to him the intimate details of a girl's working mind.

"Maybe, "I start tentatively. "Maybe, just hear me out," I repeat, stroking his back, his weak spot. "Maybe he explained his actions to her. I mean, we know he didn't want to be a Death Eater. Gossip was all around the school about him that year, he looked gaunt and lifeless. I know it's hard for you to understand because you're so good, Harry, but did you ever stop to think that it wasn't so easy for him in school? He's manipulative and uses people because he's in Slytherin. Everyone hates an entire house on that principle, and funnily enough, generally the ones in that house deserve it. But how could he just _tell_ Dumbledore he needed help? His target? If his family was on the line, what would you have done? Would you have been able to make that judgement call so quickly?"

"Are you seriously-" Harry begins, obviously offended, pushing my hand away. Ron looks stunned.

"No, listen to me, please. I'm not defending his actions, I'm explaining to you maybe what Hermione was thinking when she decided to date him. You have to realize that not everybody can be Sirius, Harry. Some people have a very hard time being brave, especially when it concerns their welfare, or people they love. Some people can't just walk away from their family or life when they aren't sure if it's the best decision for them. And anyways, people liked Sirius, nobody likes Malfoy, everyone only flocked to him because he was rich. Malfoy might have finally seen through the haze that fabricated his aristocratic, fake world. He actually loves his parents, you know, like normal people. Otherwise why would he have had such daddy issues? And you told me that his mother saved you by _lying _to Voldemort just to find him. She clearly cares about him. Bottom line is, even if he is still the prejudiced arse we know him to be, he's kissing Hermione in that picture." Ron gives a little grunt, and I know they both don't want to hear what' s next. "And he looks happy."

I grab the piece from my jeans pocket and uncrumple it, pointing to them on the street. I've been staring at it, attempting to decipher its meaning, trying to somehow absorb their true feelings from a news clip. I mean, 'Mione looks absolutely radiant in it, and he's actually got a lovely grin on his face, no trace of a smirk.

"It's odd – he really does. I don't think I've seen him that happy since he got me expelled from Quidditch." Harry grabs the paper and then thrusts it at Ron, who immediately rips it in disgust.

"That's not a look you give someone if you have mediocre care for them. Maybe he really wants to change. Who knows? I mean, his mother is apparently leaving dear old Lucius to rot in jail, probably the most sensible thing she's done in 20 years. The only way we can keep an eye on Hermione, and track _him, _is if we give him a chance to prove himself."

"Ginny, are you serious?" Ron asks, outraged. "How would we do that?"

"Invite him over. For dinner."

Harry chokes out a laugh.

"_Him? _Oh, I'm sure your dad would be so pleased. And no offense, but that all seems like a bunch of tripe. Malfoy, a changed man? If he wasn't truly loyal to the dark side or our side, he's only loyal to himself."

"Regardless, wouldn't you just _love _to see the look of defeat on his face when he apologizes to us individually, for everything he's done? To watch him simmer under the glares of all the Weasley's?"

"Not, really, no. I'd rather him not dirty the house up, thanks," Ron spits. "How can you possibly think this will solve anything? Don't you think that if he comes over, Hermione will just admire him _more _for being willing to do so?"

"Perhaps, but on the flipside, if she asks him to go and he refuses, what does that say about him? If he's truly putting on a façade, Hermione will see through it sooner than later. Usually she's a good judge of character. We can ask him all these questions that will make him squirm, can't we?"

"I don't know, Ginny. Inviting him over to my favourite family's house? I may want to punch him," Harry smiles.

"Well, then you can after dessert. Why punch though? He hasn't done anything truly heinous this year, hasn't he? Verbal interrogation may be enough."

"Like one semester of freedom excuses him creating a song about me so I couldn't goal keep properly. So Harry gets in trouble by Umbridge, and the DA found out and eradicated. That's the thing that still baffles me most, how she got amnesia. I mean, she _knows _how much he's acted up to humiliate us, and she just forgets it?"

"She probably doesn't, but if she likes him she's going to make excuses like every normal person does in a relationship."

"Well she's not as bright as I thought then."

"Oh come on, Ron, stop being such an arse. You know how crazy jealous she was when you went out with Lavender, her head isn't screwed on tight when she's in love." Ron's face falls, and Harry puts his hands up, shaking his head at me for saying the 'L' word.

"She's _not _in love. I refuse to believe it. And certainly, he can't be; If he hurts Hermione, then he'll be Undesirable No. 1."

"Yes, he will. But back to my point, when we invite him over it'll elevate us, you especially Ron, as being the bigger person first. We extend the hand of right before he can. She's going to remember that, I promise."

He sighs "Okay, okay, you've convinced me. How are we going to get her over here though? I know that look of hers, we made her cry. We made her cry and it's all my fault. Fuck, I'm such an idiot."

I frown, and stand up to walk over and give Ron a hug, whose eyes are threatening with glistening tears. He's very surprised because I rarely show him such affection, but he hugs me back round my middle as I'm standing, and I pat his head.

"We all were, it's not just you. Now come on, let's get on with it, if we raise the white flag now, maybe we can curb her anger and defiance."

"And what about Molly? Your mum? And your _dad? _He hates the Malfoy's," Harry asks, apparently now on board too.

"Well they'll just have to deal with it. Mum will convince Dad, she always can."

"I really hope you're right," Ron concedes. "But you know I'm going to have a hard time not calling him ferret boy? Or being generally displeasure-able."

"Yes, well, you need to figure out how you _truly _feel about Hermione before he comes over, _if _he comes over. If you want her friendship, you have to support her decisions. If you want her as your girlfriend, god just get over it and go out with all the girls who want you."

He flushes red, and _finally _emits a little grin. Thank god.

"But –"

"Look, brother, I say this as your loving sister and as a female; you're putting Hermione on a pedestal because it ended so abruptly with her, and you never got to stage 4 in your intimate relationship so the only mystery left behind her was if she was good in bed."

"Ginny, can you not," Harry grimaces. "Mental images."

"I'm being frank here, okay! Just because you're all sexually shy babies….anyways, Ron, you still have deep feelings about her because she's your best friend. And I know you want it to translate into true love but I doubt that's going to happen anytime soon, so in the meantime take the Ginny route and see different girls to calm yourself; then maybe Hermione will see how good of a catch you are, huh?"

"I dunno…" he says, processing the information. "Just let me wait until Malfoy gets here, and then we'll see."

"Fine," I say. I guess I'll take it.

I think he's deluding himself into thinking Hermione will actually take him back. In my opinion, she's too independent for him, Ron needs a mommy. Malfoy doesn't seem much better, but at least he has somewhat valid reasons to be completely demented. It's painfully clear to me that what Ron lacks is simply a girlfriend who can hold him through the night like Lavender did without being so flitty and annoying. The boy needs to get laid.

"Now, I'm going to inform mum of the new plan, eat something, calm down and then go to Hermione's _alone."_

They both stand up to protest but I place a palm out, and they know I mean business with my Molly Weasley glare.

"What she needs is a girl talk, alright? Too many people and she'll be overwhelmed. Now sit tight and I won't be long." Time to take matters into my own hands.

This damn better work or I'm going to sit on Hermione's doorstep until she forgives me.

* * *

**And all the gay things I say make such a pretty melody,  
I'm gonna say all those bad things about you that ain't true; Intimate things so everyone hates you.**

**This...is...my...Re-venge**

**I'm a little tease , watch what I do**  
**Here's a little taste of how it's gonna be from now on.**

**- Revenge, Mindless Self Indulgence.**

{}

"_Narcissa, Draco, _I wasn't informed you'd be coming today. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The look on Paisley Parkinson's face as my mother and I stand in the doorway, defiant and unscathed, is almost worth her telling the press about our secret affairs.

"Oh, and you've brought a guest." Her voice becomes two octaves higher as she notices Jean-Pierre behind us, who raises his hand in a wave.

This will be _excruciatingly _fun.

"Yes, your lovely husband was on the way out to a meeting, he said. He let us in through the gate." Thank Merlin for spaced-out daddies. I think he was far too enthralled with that wandering eye of how great mother looks to be conscious of who exactly he's dealing with. Narcissa Malfoy can be so very charming.

"This is my fiancée, Jean-Pierre Du Pont. Draco tells me you know of him?" Paisley's face drains of all colour, a rat caught in a trap. "We've just come to discuss a couple of things with you, Paisley darling. If you're open to company, of course."

Paisley better get ready for some subtle bitchfest, because the tone of voice my mother is using is not one that should be messed with.

"Nonsense, I haven't seen you in eons, my dear. Come on in, let's catch up. Come in, lovely to meet you, Jean-Pierre. Er, parlez-vous Anglais?"

She opens the door up, not before leaning in to give my mother a chaste kiss on the cheek. When she looks at me, I merely raise a brow and she shuffles round, struts into her sitting room in the middle of her estate, frantically adjusting her hair, her crème robes, feeling unprepared, inadequate. Mother, Jean and I look immaculate, because we planned it so.

I'm sporting my grey linen suit that I reserve only for dinner parties, while Jean is wearing something similar in taupe with a faint plaid pattern. Mother is looking fairly ravishing in a deep scarlet robe, with matching high heels; positively dressed to kill.

Paisley ushers us onto her uncomfortable fancy eggshell chaise lounges, in her equally pretentious marble floored, pristinely clean room.

"Yes, I do speak English, zough my accent iz quite strong. A pleasure to meet you, Madame Parkinson." He shakes her quivering hand, kissing it like a debonair, before sitting next to me, crossing a foot to his knee.

She flushes, "And you, Jean-Pierre. Please, call me Paisley."

"As you wish, _Paisley_," he replies in his thick drawl, wherein Paisley shifts uncomfortably, obviously charmed yet annoyed that my mother's new suitor isn't a scumbag she can complain about to the socialites.

"Wine? I have a few very good vintages from about 50 years ago, or so?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," Mother nods.

"Eez is vin rouge? I do not particularly 'ave a taste for la vin blanc, white wine I should zay. If it eez not too much trouble."

"I – I'll have our house elf, Rudy, check the cellar for some red," she says. "No trouble at all; _Rudy."_

A pop, and then the Parkinson elf is present, who bows low to his mistress. "Yes, Miss Paisley?"

"Fetch our finest wine from the cellar, please. Red, and _quickly."_ He nods and snaps his finger to disappear.

"Now then, what have you been up to, Narcissa? Last I saw you, you were, well, a little distressed." She smiles tightly, unable to conceal her nervousness.

She sits herself next to mother, who scoots down just a teensy bit.

"If you don't mind Paisley, I think Draco had a question to ask you first."

"Oh, of course. What is it, my dear?" She turns to me, a contemptuous look on her face, no doubt recalling how she acted when I told her of my troubles a few mere days ago. But I _did _storm out the house and drank some of her premium liquor, so I guess I deserve the glare.

"I was simply wondering if Pansy would make an appearance today? I left your home quite rudely last I was here, and for that I sincerely apologize. I would just like to extend that to your daughter as well?"

"Pansy is preoccupied upstairs." She's struggling with what action she should take. "I suppose I can go fetch her, for a few moments, if it's that important to you," she says clearly dissatisfied with the decision.

"I assure you, it _is_." I give her a knowing look, and she inhales to steady herself as she stands up.

"Very well." She click clacks her way to the spiral staircase, while I smirk at mother, who grins back. Jean-Pierre purses his lips with his brows piqued, a little unsure of where this is going, but awaiting some eminent, satisfying embarrassment.

"_Pansy! You have a visitor. Please come down." _

"_Just a moment, I'm a _little busy," I hear Pansy's high pitch shriek from the top floor.

The lady of the hour returns, and retakes her seat. "She'll be down in a moment. _What is taking Rudy so long?"_ How I love seeing this woman act under pressure.

As if on cue, Rudy rejoins the party, who has brought some beautiful crystal glasses. He pours everyone a drink. Plus one for Pansy.

"Thanks, Rudy," I say cheerily. The elf squeaks a thank you to me before exiting the tension filled room.

I hear footsteps in the hallway, and my smirk just grows wider.

I can hear her hissy fit huff before I can see her dark hair enter the room. "Yes, mother, who is it? I wasn't expecting anyone; you know I'm in the midst of getting ready for Blaise's dinner party tonight and I want to look- _Draco!" _She screeches, her heavily made up face wide with terror.

"Hi there, Pansy," I greet her, smiling wide, raising my glass to her.

"What are you doing here?" she asks quietly. Then she removes her gaze from me, and realizes the full magnitude of her company. "_Mrs. Malfoy_? And whose this?"

"_This _is Jean-Pierre Du Pont, her fiancée," I reply, waving my hand out at him. Her face ends up matching her mother's, and that little spasm of satisfaction returns.

"_Don't be rude, Pansy. _Sit. We have guests," Paisley instructs in a voice not to be disobeyed.

In another time, I would've found Pansy delicious looking; she's wearing a bathrobe again, a lacy slip peeking underneath while her hair is sleekly straight, and her jewelry delicately picked out. It's strange how a few days with the right person however, can change one's perspective. Now all I see is a high society girl hellbent on feeling adequate by dating the right person to get validation from people who don't even care about her, and ignoring her true feelings.

Poor Pansy, I think maybe I'll go a bit easy on her.

She decides to sit next to me, and tries to do so with tact and dignity.

"Now, Narcissa as I was saying –"

"Not to be impolite again, Paisley, but I'd like to get straight to the point," mother says, sipping her wine courteously.

"Yes, the point. What is that, exactly?" Paisley asks, naively begging for the attack.

"First off," I reply, "Sorry mother, for interrupting - I'd like to apologize to you, Pansy. For not being up front about why I came to see you _when_ I came to visit here on Friday, and for being a drunken mess when I left."

"A drunken mess?" Paisley says, looking from Pansy to me. I took the liberty of rehashing that awful story with my mother, so she was prepared for what I was going to say aloud in this moment.

"Yes, I drank some of your alcohol, which I'll gladly repay, Mrs. Parkinson. But while I'd like to apologize for my behaviour, I think I am owed an apology myself."

"And why would _you_ merit one?" Pansy asks haughtily, flicking her hair behind her.

"Because, Pansy dear. When you confessed your mother's plan to get me to marry you for my money, and I told you it was a bad idea, _plus _that I kissed Hermione Granger, you sort of, I don't know, got a little upset. And then, you told your mother about it."

"I – I" Pansy looks shell-shocked.

"You were wasted, like me. We made bad decisions. It happens, Pansy. Do you even remember all the things you said? I had a pretty horrible hangover."

"I did too, so?"

"So _why _did you feel the need to ruin my relationship with Hermione because of one mistake?"

She says nothing, searching for words. For lies.

"No, no, don't get me wrong, it was conniving, it was genius to be honest, if you were seeking vengeance. I'm just a little curious, did you honestly think that we wouldn't take any action?" I ask, addressing both of them.

"You hurt my Pansy, she was distraught that you were pursuing the Granger girl and then had the _gall _to come here and try and mess her up emotionally. What choice did I have? You would've done the same," Paisley says, and Pansy juts her chin up as if it's justified.

"Would have done the same?" Mother asks, laughing. "Are you joking? You think we'd stoop to the level as you would to bring me down a peg because my son doesn't love your daughter? You told the _Prophet _about Jean and I, and gave tips about Draco and a girl he likes out of spite, when he told you those things in honesty, sadness and confidence. People followed us, stalked us and took pictures for what? So thousands of people in Britain and France could speculate awful things about us?"

"I was angry," Pansy says, shrugging, looking at the floor.

"Yes, but you don't regret it though, do you?" I ask, shaking my head. She says nothing, refusing to meet my gaze. "Look, I'm sorry about coming over, but I truly needed a place to stay, I was upset about Jean –Pierre, I had no time to process a divorce and then I was locked out. I was confused about my feelings about Hermione, I never fucking intended on hurting you if I have. _You _told me to leave!"

"_Hermione?" _Pansy asks weakly, then changes her face to one of steel. "I told you to leave because my ego was hurt, and because in case you forgot, you didn't push me away in time. Apology not accepted, _Draco."_

"Well, regardless if either of you don't regret or take apologies, I should be thanking you both, really." Paisley looks up at mother, confused. To be honest, I am too. I turn to look at her. "That little stunt ruined my relationship with Jean's mother, our faces were all over the French papers, merci beaucoup. Frankly, she was holding us back. She wanted us to be in a secret relationship because of my past discretion's and Draco's. She needed the 'right time' to come out to the French public. I'm not ashamed of my past anymore, I accept it as it is; if I can't let go and change, I can't move on. I admit I'd have liked us to all get along, but as Draco and I are finally realizing, it doesn't matter what people think of you so long as you can look at yourself at the end of the day and realize you're making the right decision. "

"And you're saying the _Malfoy's _are good decision makers," Paisley scoffs.

"Maybe not in the past," Mother says coyly, sipping her wine, "But we are now. I _love _Jean-Pierre, and contrary to what you probably think, I'm not after the money, the titles. I never really was. I loved Lucius in a time gone by too. Of course him being a Malfoy was something to be desired, but he courted me first, and everything was great until he changed. He got involved with people and affairs he shouldn't have, but he did what was best, he thought, for the family. For our safety. And how can you not be loyal to a man like that? Like me at the time, we cared too much about what people like you think, Paisley. Too much about what would happen if we didn't go along with every little change the Ministry or higher ups deemed appropriate. Jean was in a similar situation with his marriage, he had to have it approved. We understand each other, which I think is why we get along so well."

She looks at him affectionately, and he holds her hand, while the Parkinson's continue to be baffled by this onslaught of information, clearly ashamed.

"And now, Draco is different too. His mindset is completely altered, something you would do well to heed, Pansy. Because I could tell just from seeing him talk about that girl, that he cares about her. Draco has never seemed to honestly care about anyone other than himself, and perhaps me," she says, shooting me an apologetic look. She's right though, I can't hate her for being truthful.

I dart a look at Pansy who is crestfallen, and I do feel a twinge of guilt for pretty much using her. In fact, a lot of this isn't her fault at all, is it?

"And finally, we're realizing that you should judge a person on who they are, what _they _show you, not based on what you are; Jean taught me that best."

Jean smiles at her, and I drain my glass, completely loving how brazen my mother is being right now, instead of her usual approach; the quiet, delicate housewife of Lucius Malfoy.

"So if you feel like going to Rita Skeeter again, I suggest you use whatever I told you instead of speculating lies. Because next time, we're not going to be so nice. We will go to whomever you tell and expose you as frauds and liars, now how would that look?" She shoots, directly in the eyes.

Narcissa Malfoy, a new woman extraordinaire, stands up from her seat, her eyebrow raised in victory, and grabbing onto her soon to be husband, dragging him to the door. Paisley Parkinson sits, a woman scorned and stunned by finally receiving the gossiping backlash she deserves, clutching a glass with a loathing look.

"Draco?" Mother asks me, beckoning.

"Just a second," I reply, raising a finger. "Pansy, would you join me over by the window for a moment?"

"Why?" she croaks, "So you can humiliate me further by insinuating I'm an idiot in high society?"

"Just, come here, please?" I stand up, and pull her off the couch, dragging her by the arm to the large glass windows facing the gardens.

"Yes? What would you like to discuss? Make it snappy," she commands, yanking herself from my grip, crossing her arms and looking at the ground.

"Pansy, I just want to say I'm sorry again." She looks up at me, into my eyes, and rolls them to the back of her skull.

"For what? For not loving me? So what, none of the boys ever do. Just because you're all 'reformed' doesn't mean you'll lead by example. You're the exception to the rule, you've gone soft." I chuckle.

"I know," I reply gently, grabbing her arm, but she pushes me away. "But I want to apologize for acting like I did for a long time. All those useless years of adolescence A part of me thought that's what love was, what we were; being with a girl you talk to and kiss, especially because your parents approve of it. You have to know that I always valued you over everyone else in that Slytherin shithole, even more than Blaise." She looks up at me again, and keeps them there when she sees the sincerity. I grab her hand. "I know that's stupid now, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you were there for me, even though I didn't open up to you as much as I could have. I'm just done with this whole society bullshit, I'm tired of being fake. But I'd still like to be friends, acquaintances, whatever. I'll show up at a dinner party or two. Maybe we can really get to know each other, help out. I'm not the only victim of wartime bullshit, after all. I can forgive you for getting angry at me, it was a valid thing to be mad at –"

"Draco –" she tries to interrupt, but stops, unsure of what to say.

"Look, I know you hate Hermione, and you can hate me too. Just remember not to sell yourself short. You're Pansy fucking Parkinson, nobody tells you what to do, right? That's why I liked you in the first place, you were just as rotten as me," I reply and I smirk at her. "If you ever want decide you do want to see me, just owl me. If you don't, I understand. Enjoy your date with Blaise. And really, I mean it. Everything I just said."

I take her hand upwards and kiss it. When I drop it to the ground, she turns her bracelet round her wrist, a little tense. "Thanks, Draco," she says finally, a hint of a smile on her face. "I'll give it some thought."

I nod to her, and spin around. Who would've thought I grew a conscience.

"Bye, Paisley," I wave, not bothering to look back as I walk past that silly bitch.

"That was a very noble thing you did Draco, I'm very proud of you," My mother says as I reach her at the front door.

My mother is proud of me.

She's _proud._

"I'm a little proud of myself to be honest," I reply, as we thrust ourselves into the country air.

Jean laughs, causing me to join in, and then my mother can't help but giggle; it's infectious after all.

We walk down the lane and out of the Parkinson estate, myself feeling a little less like an asshole, very impressed by how my mother handles her affairs, and still praying to Merlin that Hermione isn't going to kick my ass for telling Paisley about this in the first place.

For one last day, life is still good.

* * *

I'm soaking in my bathtub when I hear the doorbell ring, very annoyed at the timing of whoever decided 2 pm was a decent time to come knocking.

I've already cried all my tears on the phone with Andrea, who was a bit too busy to offer me some solid advice. ("_Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry I can't come see you. If I skipped this meeting in 15, it's about how we're interviewing Kate Middleton for Christ's sake, my ass would be fired to the next continent. And of course I have to stay late to finish the rest of this other damned article.")_

My Mum, who had left me numerous e-mails I neglected, managed to calm me down enough to make me rationalize the thoughts bubbling in my mind. I'm now drained, and completely exhausted. I ended up explaining to her what's happened so far, minus the intimate details obviously, and she told me my friend would come around, insisted in fact. But I'm not so certain it'll be so easy.

I`ve decided that what I said to Harry, Ron and Ginny was _not _unreasonable, and that they were complete, well, _arses._ I know I deserved some of the backlash I got, I know I technically went behind their backs but they humiliated me in a way that I never have been before. Made me feel as if I committed an actual crime, not a social one. They pushed me from their home, because it's Harry's now too, right? The one place besides here where I've _always _been welcome.

And now I feel immense guilt, and anger all rolled into one. Ironically, all I want right now is someone to give me a hug. Maybe a certain blonde boy, but I don't know how he's going to feel. I mean, likely he'll blame himself for telling Mrs. Parkinson, but it isn't really his fault.

I wish he was here.

I need him to explain himself to me further, I know he's troubled, but Harry's antagonism rekindled in me the reminder that he has messed up horrifically in the past. I know I won`t be able to forgive him for certain things, like Buckbeak. But I can learn to let it go if he opens up to me more, and feels remorse, and let me see the best in him.

_Ugh, _I just wish they`d give him a chance. I _did, _it's not that difficult.

Whatever.

I push those thoughts to the recesses of my mind, and get out of the tub, hoping that this isn't a salesman or a girl scout selling cookies.

Maybe, I think, maybe Mum or Dad have come home early. Perhaps Andrea on a lunch break. Yes, I delude my sad self while donning a robe and rushing downstairs, appreciating the fact my hair was up so I don't look like a washed out rat.

The last person I expect to see when I swing the door open appears, completely catching me off guard; Ginny.

"Hi," she waves timidly, then holds her hands together in front of her, shamefaced. _Now _she's apologetic? Now she wants to talk?

Seriously?

"What do you want, Ginny?" I ask, sighing. I'm really not in the mood.

"Look, Hermione, I know you're mad and I don't expect forgiveness, but please; hear me out."

"Why should I? You didn't. I thought I 'should just leave' a few hours ago," I reply bitchily.

"I know. I'm really sorry, we're all so sorry," she says, looking at the porch floor. "We overreacted."

She seems sincere in her apology, but, I can't just immediately forget what was said to me. The words that stung me.

"And how do I know they're sorry too? Why aren't they here too?"

"I'll explain, okay. But we're sorry because we spent a good half hour discussing how we were going to make it up to you. Our behaviour towards you. It was atrocious. And I feel horrible."

They talked about me for a half hour? I feel my heart relenting a bit, hating how weak I am towards compassionate people.

"It was," I reply, stone-faced, waiting for what she has to further tell me, even though I just want to wrap my arms around her and say all is forgiven, even though I'm hurt.

"It was just such a shock, you know? And Ron was _so _upset, Harry and I didn't know what to do. But I wasn't mad at you like Harry was because you were seeing Malfoy, and I wish I had just told you that up front."

_Huh? _"Then why were you mad?"

"Because you didn't tell me how conflicted you were earlier. I would've tried to help you sort it out. Maybe, this whole newspaper thing wouldn't have happened, and I could've smoothed the barrier between my brother and boyfriend if you had told me first even if it had."

"Yes, but you wouldn't have wanted me to be with him, and _I do. _I like him a lot. Even if you'd be willing to help, it's not that easy."

"I know it's not, but you can try me, can't you? Girlfriends are supposed to be tight, we're supposed to fight for each other. I trust you, Hermione, don't you trust I can keep a secret too? No matter how unpleasant? I'm your friend."

There's wind blowing masses of ginger hair into her face, but her expression remains unmoved; it's hurt I can see in her eyes.

"I know, Ginny. I just didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to lose all that. I know it's stupid, it would and might've had an opposite effect. But I do trust you, I do." I repeat, feeling guilty, extending a hand out, which she takes, then smiles. Her fingers are freezing. "God, come inside, I didn't realize how cold it was out here, you're just wearing a sweater."

She thanks me gratefully, and steps into my warm home, exhaling in relief.

"Here, want to come on upstairs? I just need to put on some pajamas or something."

"Sure," she agrees, following me like yesterday up to my room. "By the way, it was my idea to come here alone. I knew Harry, and definitely Ron, wouldn't be able to handle the visit. I needed to explain this myself."

"Explain what?" I ask, flinging open my wardrobe and grabbing a silver silk camisole and matching bottoms. I figure I'm just going to have to stay in all day do tons of research and work tonight, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring with Draco. Right now though, I have other concerns. "And how's he doing, anyways? Ron?"

Ginny plops herself on my bed and sighs. "I tried to explain to Ron that he should do what _I _did, advised by you. See other girls, try to get over you for a bit, and maybe realize he's placing you on a perch, and becoming a possessive maniac in the process."

"Did you _really_ say that_? _I mean,that's a pretty accurate description, just - God, he must've been livid." I can't _believe_ she has those kinds of guts, but then, she's always never been afraid of her brothers. Most other people really.

"Not really, not as much as I expected. Harry and I told him we need to think of your friendship first, and him plotting against your boyfriend isn't going to help. I think perhaps we finally got through to him."

I blush as I pull on my top, completing the change, and go to sit next to her. "Well, he's not my boyfriend, but thanks for helping Ron. I've been really worried about him."

"Not your boyfriend? Hermione, who kisses a man like that and isn't exclusive?" she asks, and I realize when I see her impish grin she's asking me coquettishly, not meanly. Stupid moving photographs.

"We've been on two dates, technically, I suppose. Both in the same day oddly enough."

"_Hermione," _she says in a tone of surprise, impressed.

"As I already said," I begin embarrassed, "he just affects me. It's so weird. Like he _gets _me, or something. And it's not like you don't, nor Ron, nor Harry, but in a different way, you know? I don't know how to explain it."

"No, I know precisely what you meant at the burrow, it's like how it is with Harry and I. Which is why it alarmed me so much."

I grin at her matching one and roll my eyes, sitting down to lie back on my pillows. "I know he's not a saint, or that I should think his change of heart makes him the best boy ever given his shady past, but I can't help but like him. He apologized to me, he opened up his heart to me, I know that's lame. He seems sincere."

"That's what I came here to explain, 'Mione," she begins tenderly, and I prop my head up so I can face her properly, while she moves a bit closer to me.

"Besides an apology I thought, well _we _agreed, that maybe we _should _give Malfoy a chance."A chance? My curiosity is seriously elevated and I sit up, as if somehow getting closer will make the prospect better. "I, at least, noticed his change in behaviour this year, besides being a brooding Slytherin, he hasn't been mean really to anyone besides Ron, who actually hit you first – so it doesn't _really_ count. But anyways, Harry still has reservations about him, as do I, and we thought that by inviting him over, for dinner, that we can talk to him, maybe hear his side of the story? Maybe squeeze in an apology or two," she chuckles, giving me the just-a-pinch hand signal.

_Dinner? _At the Weasley's.

"Why _your_ place?" I ask. Her expression doesn't falter.

"Because, we were hoping as your _dearest _apologetic friends, that we could make being together easier for all of us, because if you decide you want to pursue him back at school, we want to see you too. If he can come join us during dinner, or maybe on weekends and we don't want to commit murder, that would be ideal, dont'cha think?"

"Yes, very. But what will your Mum say? Or you _dad?" _I grimace.

"I already ran it by Mum, who was furious at us by the way, rightly deserved. But she agreed, Dad'll come round. He can always threaten Malfoy with a foreign Muggle object on a stick."

"You know," I begin laughing, "I'm to blame too. I should've just told you I thought Draco was attractive, and you could've helped me keep it at bay. Or immediately owled harry and let him stew in that information when we went out. But who knew he'd tell me first? Who'd have thought he liked _me?_ Or come to Muggle London for Merlin's sake. I never thought this twisted pairing would come to fruition._"_

"Shocker, really. Not because of your merits, I already told you, you were a great catch. But because of his past prejudices, yes? Well I look forward to hearing about his – uh, warped feelings," she says with a sour look. "So you agree to it then? We're doing it ASAP; tomorrow?"

_Tomorrow?_

"I suppose I can run it by him, though I don't expect he'll love the idea. Or at all."

"No, I wouldn't either. A room full of people you've insulted offering you food and waiting for you to talk is quite intimidating."

"Well, he does need to apologize, I told him he'd have to eventually. I can forgive him for hurting me, but I'm not excusing his behaviour towards you guys. And I can apologize too to Ron and –"

"God, no, Hermione. We all probably would've done the same thing as you, hide our relationship til we'd explode; though we can't admit it. I guess we're not as open as we thought are we?" She says thoughtfully. "I mean, Malfoy deserves the heat, but not all Slytherin's should. Fred and George were bad enough about me dating Michael, and he's in Ravenclaw. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when everyone else finds out. Sorry, I know you don't want to hear that."

"No, no I don't but it's the truth," I sigh.

"If all goes well we'll work it out. Harry just has a vendetta, once he gets over it, he'll just have to join the dark side with the snooty socialites like you have."

"Ouch," I say, laughing. "Thank you, though. For being human."

I grab her hand again and squeeze it. "Well, someone has to be. And besides, I get to see Malfoy squirm. It's funny, people say girls are more emotional, but I never let those insults affect me the way Ron and Harry did. Same with you. It should be fun."

"Ha. Yes, _fun. _If Draco agrees, and he'd _better, _I'll be the one wiping his ego off the floor and his weepy eyes with a monogrammed hanky."

Ginny purses her lips, trying to quell her merriment, before letting a giggle out. I join in, unable to help it, so _happy_ to have someone partially on my side. The drained feeling I felt before has filled up slightly with optimism.

Once the hilarity ends, Ginny takes a deep breath and clears her throat. "It's going to be fine, Hermione. At least, I hope it so. I can't make any promises, but you've never misjudged horribly before."

"Yes, that's what I'm afraid of."

She frowns, extending her bottom lip up into a the sad puppy dog, then gives me a hug. "The good thing about having me as a friend is I'm particularly good at hexing."

"Lucky me," I smile, shaking my head. "Oh, I forgot my manners; Would you like some tea? Something to drink? I'm not going anywhere tonight, just holing myself up to study."

"I'm glad to see there's been no immediate changes, any slacking off or anti-Gryffindor rebellion."

"Oh, shut up."

"If you're seeing Mr. Moneybags with the textbook bad boy mystique slash daddy issues, then I'm entitled to some jabs, alright?" She raises a brow and sticks out her tongue.

"Alright, but only a few." Gotta love her honesty, I must say.

"I'm going to have to take a rain check on the beverages, however. I told the troops back home I'd report as soon as I got my answer, they're very impatient. And if you're studying, don't need to ruin that ritual. Just show up tomorrow by 6? If he doesn't come with, no matter, it's just a bit of extra food Ron will eat."

"Ha ha, okay. If you insist. You know, Gin, we need to hang out more." I really missed this bonding.

"I _know_. I feel horrible about summer, I was just so caught up with everything being so _normal, _plus there's Harry and –"

"It was the Summer of Love, don't even fuss over it. Apologizing would make it all seem like a regret. I would have been the same had Ron and I not fallen apart. If this falls through, I'm coming over with some ice cream like all stereotypical girls and we're going to have a session of dissing the Malfoy heir."

"Oh, I'd be delighted," she replies enthusiastically standing up.

"Here, I'll walk you out."

"Do you think Malfoy's going to be alright? I mean with the whole paper thing?"

"I dunno. It's kind of a tossup, really. He told Pansy and her mother about his mother getting a divorce, so I assume that's why the press knew."

"He told Pansy?" she questions me with a knowing look. "When he just found out, or? When did he know? And why would Madam Snooty Britches tell the _Prophet?_"

I try to remain composed as we reach the door. "He knew when he got home for break. He – er, walked in on his mother and fiancée having sex." Ginny's eyes shoot to her hairline. "He got locked out of the manor when he returned home from here the first time. He kissed me when he was dreaming, actually, I tried to wake him up and he just – anyways." She becomes more attentive at this development. Humans are naturally nosy, they loving dishing the dirt.

"It's a long story, really. He was too embarrassed to come back here, obviously confused about his feelings and went there. He told me Pansy tried to get back together with him while she was intoxicated," I can't say get engaged, I do have respect for people's privacy. "And he said no, because – because he liked me. Or at least, didn't love her," I say.

"Oh my god, really?" Ginny breathes, jaw wide. "Did she freak out? Oh, I bet that pulled the smirk from her stupid face. You know what, screw Ron, I want to hear this. Come on, please?" She asks, grabbing my arm and shaking it.

I hesitate, feeling if I should for the sake of Draco, remain silent about his affairs. But this is Ginny, and she won't tell anyone if I ask for discretion.

I nod, and she squeals, while I lead her to the kitchen island for some tea. I spend a good twenty minutes explaining what happened when Draco came over; his charm, his anger, what he told me about the Parkinson's, his confession speech, his Muggle clothing, and Bordeaux. I leave out our listening date because it feels private. I do indulge her on meeting Narcissa, tell her about Andrea giving me advice, and about Lenora too, just because. By the end of our - _my_ endless rambling, Ginny looks pleased.

"God, that's all so _crazy. _Romantic, even. Who'da thought? Malfoy goes all out for a dunce. I am impressed," she says hitting the table lightly with her hands. "I'm glad I am now up to date with the Hectic Life of Hermione Granger. The Boring Repeat of Sixth Year will have to be discussed tomorrow, however."

"Wouldn't miss it," I reply.

"And I _know _he's going to come because you did nothing. He's going to show up here grovelling for forgiveness and hopefully telling a tale about how his mother wasn't bothered by being mentioned in a stupid article by Rita Skeeter."

"I hope you're right."

"Just like you are with school, I _usually _am," she grins. "Now, it really is time for me to go, they're probably biting their fingernails in anticipation."

"Okay, well see you tomorrow?" I grab her empty cup and place it in the sink with mine. Then I return to the doorway.

"Yes, no matter what state you're in, my darling."

"You're amazing, you know?"

She shakes her head as she steps outside into the frigid air. "No, merely I have a heart, and apologies in my arsenal. Unlike the boys, I do know when to realize I've been a prick. Bye, 'Mione," she waves. "Thanks for tea and forgiveness!" she yells as she disappears into space.

Well, tomorrow will be a gamble, and definitely excruciating for me to attempt to get Draco to his mortal enemy's place of residency.

But with friends like that, you can't help but smile and hope for the best.


	34. An Apology Before The Storm

_**Oh baby think you can? Be my girl, i'll be your man!**_

_**Hit me you can't hurt me; Suck my kiss.**_  
_**Kiss me please pervert me, stick with this**_  
_**Is she talking dirty?**_  
_**Give to me sweet scared bliss, your mouth was made to suck my kiss.**_

**- Suck My Kiss, Red Hot Chili Peppers**

* * *

"Egads, Draco, _what _are you wearing?"

I look down at my appearance as I finish walking into the parlour, and back up to mother. She's looking extremely ecstatic, sitting next to Jean in their matching housecoats on one of the couches by the window, drinking tea and eating scones. The _Prophet _lays open on the table.

I merely shrug.

"No idea, really. A Fassbender creation of sorts."

Something called jeans, a dark indigo. Paired with a robin's egg blue button up shirt, collared in white. And some pointy brown shoes. I was told they go together.

"Well, I know nothing of Muggle fashion – I guess I really have no room to make a judgement call," she notes, finishing her appraisal. "Meeting Hermione then, soon?"

Her expression goes from a grimace to soft as I join the pair in one of the antique, incredibly unused armchairs. I can't recall the last time I've even _been _in this room.

"Yes. I just came down to say I was leaving in a moment. And good morning. Just need to revise my apology speech."

"I'm sure she's going to forgive you, darling, why wouldn't she? If she knows why you told Paisley, she won't be too cross." Hmm, wouldn't be so certain.

"I believe your optimism is an extension of your happiness, mother."

She gives me a look. "Oh, come now. A little faith goes a long way."

"It wasn't an insult, the glow becomes you." I laugh. "And you are correct; It's not her I'm worried about. It's her friends. If they are anything like I expected them to be, she's going to force me into some situation I will find unpleasant with them." If she even still _wants _me.

"If you care about her, you'll _go," _she states firmly. "Sacrifices have to be made for the good of the relationship." I shake my head. She really is happy she doesn't have to deal with Marie anymore, isn't she?

"I will." Maybe. "Alas, I'll just have to go on my hands and knees and beg for forgiveness, and if she doesn't appreciate _that_, then clearly she knows nothing of the Malfoy nature," I chuckle. "On that same note, anything worth reading in the paper?" I ask, smiling. She returns the gesture and thrusts an extra saucer with a pastry on it to me.

"No, I think our message yesterday afternoon was quite clear, thank you."

"I still cannot believe ze look on zere faces when you told zem off, Narcissa," Jean starts, rumbling with laughter. "Very admirable, and classy might I add?"

"Yes, that performance was quite impressive, mother, I am sorry to say I didn't know you had it in you."

"I quite honestly didn't know either," she replies, blushing happily. "But since Lucius isn't around to force a plan of action, I needed to do _something. _Nobody messes with us, as you will learn, Jean."

"Well, eef anything else comes up, I will let you 'andle it." He smiles. She leans in to kiss him, and even though it's still an odd sight, I'm slowly getting used to it, especially because father isn't around to remind me how weird this change is.

"Speaking of your father, Draco," Mother begins tentatively. I shift a little uneasy, but say nothing, "When did you want to visit him?"

So much for getting used to it.

Jean, tactfully, grabs the paper and begins to read about Kingsley Shacklebolt's plans to implement lawyers for convicts. Too little, too late, Minister.

"Uh, I don't know. I leave next Tuesday, yes? Perhaps Sunday? I need to wrap up the project if Hermione is still letting me do that, and it'll give me a day of recovery if it went the way it did last time," I scowl.

"I can't say it will be better, but it's good to see him, you know. The Dementor's aren't present there anymore, and we've tried to get him a more private cell, but I imagine it still hurts to be isolated like that." She looks incredibly sad, and I put a palm over her hand.

"I know, but he _is_ in there for a reason, even though his sentence length is ridiculous," I hiss. "I'm lucky to have gotten off for being a minor when it all spiraled out of control." The sadness in her face turns to anguish, guilt even.

"Oh, I _hate _speaking of this," she flails her arms helplessly. "Let us please, change the topic. Sunday, it's decided. I'll take you Sunday."

"I can go alone, if it harms you so," I say quietly.

"No, sweetheart, I couldn't –"

"We'll see when the time comes," I maintain fiercely. I know for a fact that seeing his departed wife will only create the effect of rubbing salt in the wounds. "In the meantime, you need to write a letter to the warden to let them know someone's coming so they give us an exact time frame to Apparate into their facility."

"You're quite right. I'll do it later, when my mind isn't so tired and full of food."

"Thanks," I smile, and this time the return one she gives is wan.

"So," she starts up again, faux cheerily, "Hermione's! Will you be home for dinner?"

I reminisce of 2 days ago and the night we had. How fucking amazing it was.

Hmm, snogging and music with a vivacious girl, or an awkward stuffy dinner with the two lovebirds here?

Such a _tough_ decision.

"No, I don't think so," I reply with a straight face. Jean raises his eyebrow and gives me a subtle thumbs up, unbeknownst to my mother, and I nearly choke on the piece of scone I just took a bite of.

"_Draco, _are you alright?" I clear my throat, trying not to laugh, and put my hand up and out.

"Yes, _cough, _fine. If I don't come home scathed within the hour I leave, I imagine we'll be really busy. Or else she may be conflicted over Potter and company, so I may have to settle _that _matter." Or I might be dead, come to think of it. Ugh.

"Well, good luck, when are you leaving?" She takes a sip of tea, then spits it out as daintily as possible, it obviously being cold. Jean titters at the sight.

"Mother, I _do_ believe you're trying to usher me out of the house."

"I am _not, _I thought you'd be wracked with anxiety over this, like you were last night. You could barely eat."

My mother really is a good liar. No hint of pink, no trace of mortification. Maybe it's _her _I've taken after all these years, and not Lucius.

"Seeing as I've overbeared my welcome in this room - which by the way, why don't we ever use it? – and as I know you're simply dying to get back to whatever disgusting thing you were doing before I came in, which is evidenced by the fact that your beverage has cooled, I will leave you two in peace."

"Draco, that's no way to say good bye! _Rude," _She huffs.

"Yes, but it's true, right?" I stand up and shuffle on over to the archway, saluting them both.

"By the way, this room was intended for breakfast dining when it was built, so perhaps if you got up before 11 am, you'd be in it more," she calls out as I grab my piano and blazer from the stairs.

I roll my eyes, and yell back, "You have a nice day too, Mother! Jean!"

"Au revoir, Draco," Jean rings back merrily.

I shake myself to clear my body and mind as I let myself into the daylight, feeling oddly, _nice. _I don't remember the last time a breakfast morning at the Malfoy Manor was so jovial.

I guess times, they are a changin'.

* * *

Oh, he's going to be here any minute.

I'm so anxious I'm sweating, and I feel as if I've developed a nervous tick overnight.

I had no ideas on what to wear today, considering I'm (hopefully) going to be dining tonight at the Weasley's. I didn't want to look too casual for fear of giving the impression I was trying too hard not to care, or vice versa, trying too hard to please.

I've chosen to don a burgundy and grey striped sweater, with a pleated back skirt and sheer tights. A grey head band holds my hair back, and I'm still wearing the ruby pendant. I need all the luck I can get.

I'm just touching up my makeup as I hear the loud knock on my door. It jolts me in surprise, causing me to drag chapstick down my chin. In the back of my mind, I almost thought he wouldn't come, that maybe he'd be told not to by his mother.

I wipe my face off quickly with my sleeve, fix my hair in the mirror and rush down the stairs to the front door. I'm really nervous, I almost don't want to talk to him. Yet I want to see him so badly.

Does that make any sense at all?

No time for contemplating my looming insanity now, I'll just overthink and freak myself out before I even open the door up. So I swing it ajar, and there's Draco….on his knees. Looking up at me with an adorably apologetic face.

I open my mouth up, and then close it, bewildered, and at a loss at what exactly one is supposed to say at this sight.

"Hermione," he begins in a small voice, "Before you say anything, tell me to leave, that this isn't going to work, or worse, _please _let me apologize. And explain."

"Draco, I –"

"No, _shh. _I said please," he pleads, and I stifle a grin at how apprehensive he looks.

"Go on," I say, biting my lower lip to stop myself from giggling, and fanning a hand out so he can continue.

"Yesterday was really ridiculous for myself, but I imagined that since every single Wizarding family in Britain receives the _Prophet_ or at least has it mentioned it during the day, you would've had a _horrible _time visiting the Weasley's yesterday. Wait –" he pauses his grand, clearly rehearsed speech. "You _have _seen it, haven't you? You know what I'm talking about? It never occurred to me that you wouldn't have but, I assumed since your plans were with Potter , I–" Oh my god, he's rambling. He's genuinely concerned; he feels _remorse_.

"Yes, Draco, I saw the article. And they'd _all _read it before I knew it existed and went over to the Burrow," I interrupt and all colour drains from his face at my firm tone.

"_Oh god," _he groans in distress. "Well, what happened was this; Pansy evidently told her mother, Paisley, what I said to her, which included my rejection of her fabricated love, and of the fact I kissed you. Now, I suppose since she has a thirst for revenge like I tend to, Paisley and Pansy tipped off the _Prophet _about these 2 'new couples on the scene', because they lost out on rich inlaws. As I think I told you, Jean is from the richest family in France. So Paisley wanted me to date Pansy again for the cash that would come. Then that's why the photographer came into Cerisier, he was _following _us, and so were a few French ones, because my mother and Jean had a photograph headlining a Parisian Gazette as well."

Oh _no._

"Oddly enough though, the outcome on my end was _great," _he laughs disbelievingly.

Huh? "Why is that?"

"Turns out my mother made a deal with Jean's parents. They would introduce themselves as a couple when Marie, you know my new grandmamma, felt it to be good and ready time. They're pretty prominent in French society, like we used to be, so they obviously needed to plan it, because of how much my father and I fucked up. Otherwise, Jean wouldn't have their blessing for marriage, which is _why _mother didn't tell me about Jean sooner. She thought that I might need to talk about it to different people, considering it's divorce, but it would be easier to deal with once the general public knew, which was a bad mistake clearly, since I found out anyway and went crying to someone else. But she really does love him, so she agreed and feels horrible about it. When I woke up yesterday Marie was yelling at mother, and then at me when I defended her, because it was my fault it happened anyways. Then _Jean_ stands up to her, in a feat of courage of which I'd never seen, and told her that he doesn't need her or her money in his life if she was going to control who he loves and marries."

"Oh my god," I breathe.

"Yeah. It was unbelievable. Anyways, I think it gave my mother some much needed confidence because later in the day we visited the Parkinson's and she basically said if they ever fuck with us again, everyone will know who was behind the slander. And, I apologized to Pansy for what happened Friday because if she really did care for me like she said, I didn't reciprocate in the same way, the whole span we were together." He looks up at me with a mangled expression, possibly searching for approval if that was a good idea.

"Really?" I ask dumbfounded. "_You _apologized? That was a very mature thing to do, Draco."

"Yeah, I guess it was," he sighs in relief. "Anyways, my luck turned out amazing considering I was the cause, and it just made me feel awful because I knew your luck wouldn't be. And so I come here on hand and knees begging you to forgive me for screwing up. _Please?"_

Never in my life, would I have thought that Draco Malfoy would apologize to me, let alone feel bad because of something that he didn't intend to do on purpose.

He puts his hands together pleading, and gives me puppy dog eyes. I take a step out of the door and ruffle his head, wherein he drops the innocent act, lowering his hands bemused.

"I wasn't even mad, silly. I know you didn't want to reveal your familial situation to Pansy. Maybe 2 years ago I would've thought you did this purposefully, or with some kind of motive. But even if I still thought so, you coming here like this, a man raising the flag, I would've probably believed your apology."

"So you're saying…."

"Yes, you grovelled for no reason. I appreciate it though, and the up to date explanation, Draco."

I smile, and he is humiliated at making himself look slightly a fool. He slowly stands up with a pink flush, and adjusts the lapels of his wool coat.

"_Yeah, well….you're welcome_," he grumbles, brushing off his knees.

"Come here," I say, and I wrap my arms around him and give him a chaste peck on the lips. He cranes his neck back to look at me, and grins. "I really _do _appreciate it, you know."

"You'd _better. _After yesterday, my mother turned into me when I was 11. Happy and on top. I wish I could say the same," he says. I roll my eyes.

"Oh, don't be such a dramatist. I had a horrible afternoon yesterday," I counter, pushing him away slightly and walking into the house.

"Well what happened?" he asks suddenly worriedly again. "And, ugh, how are we going to resolve it?" he follows me, and takes off his shoes and jacket.

"I'll tell you everything, but you're not going to like it. And I'm glad you're on board without me asking," I say sweetly. I plop myself down on the couch and cross my leg over the other. Then I pat the spot next to me.

"Well, of course I'm on board. I thought you'd be telling me it's going to be too difficult for us to date, that Potter and friends had a huge tiff over it, and you'd….well choose them over me," Draco explains, sitting next to me. His eyes are swimming with worry.

I frown. "Draco, I don't let my friends control me."

"That wasn't what I was trying to say, I –" he splutters frantically.

"I know, I know, shh," I say, chuckling lightly, and grab his hand to stroke it. "The point is there is no 'choosing'. As much as I care about them, I wouldn't let their words stop me from seeing you. They _were _livid. And it's understandable why they wouldn't want us to see each other, but it's my life. Ron needs to let me breathe, and Harry needs to get over this grudge, like you do. If they were true friends they'd look out for me _while _respecting my decisions," I huff.

"I take it they didn't?" he asks lightly, squeezing my hand.

"No. No, they did _not. _It was pretty horrible, actually. They were appalled, and barely let me explain my side."

"I don't exactly blame them to be honest, though _fuck _them for being rude to you," he says, heated. I want to scold him for his cursing, but I find it a little adorable, really.

"Yes…they asked me to leave, they were so angry. Felt like betrayal I guess. Ron was crying he was so upset," I sigh.

"They threw you out of their _house?" _He tightens his grip. "_Bastards."_

I barely hear the word escape his lips, and I pretend like I don't hear him. Both parties already despise each other before even getting in the same room together.

This night is not going to go well.

"They _did_. Ginny told me later that she only suggested it so Ron wouldn't explode on me."

"Wait, _later_?"

"Ginny came back a few hours later, telling me they talked about what happened after I left. She apologized, and told me she wasn't upset about you, but about the fact I didn't confide to her about how I was _feeling _about you sooner."

"Sooner? Well I mean, how could you have when _I_ asked you out?"

"Well," I blush, trying to keep eye contact. "I've found you attractive since the auditions."

"_R-really?" _He gulps, unable to stop himself from looking pleased.

"Yes, don't go inflating your ego, now," I tease, pushing him lightly.

"A little late, my Gryffindor vixen," he retorts, and my face grows even warmer.

"_Anyways_, she said she felt horrible, she came back almost immediately, so I forgive her. The jury's still out on Ron and Harry. I explained to her all about this past week, about the crazy developments, about us going out, and about how none of this paper mess is really your fault."

"Well, it is, but –"

"But nothing. I'm glad you're willing to own up to the responsibility, but it isn't yours to take. What kind of person exploits knowledge like that because they're upset?"

"Pansy," he replies matter-of-factly.

"Your parents are going through a divorce, your Mum has a new partner, and your father is in jail. Nobody has been very nice to you this year, and even if you may have not deserved it, everyone should get a second chance. In that situation, who wouldn't be a little insane?" I say firmly. "You wouldn't be human if you weren't."

I hear him take a few shallow breaths, evidently moved.

"I'm grateful you understand," he replies hollow. I turn to look at him, and his eyes threaten tears.

"_What's wrong?" _ I huddle closer to him, alarmed, but he doesn't try to nestle back. "Draco, you can tell me."

He puts his head in his hands, and begins to sob.

Draco tries to control his breathing, his ragged breaths slowly steadying, only to collapse into an un-rhythmic pattern again. I freeze, just observing him, slowly circling his back with my hand, unsure of what to do with a crying boy. It's just like the first time he was here, and was upset about what I knew about Narcissa.

"I – " he raises his head, red and ugly with tears, wiping his eyes with his wrist. "I – Oh _god."_

He breaks down again, and it's a good 5 minutes before he finally settles, a good 5 minutes that frightens me.

"I'm sorry," he sniffs. "S-sorry."

"Don't be, don't – just tell me what's wrong, Draco," I try soothingly.

"M- my mother is _really _happy," he wails, practically incoherently.

"Is-isn't that a good thing?" I ask confused.

"Of course it is! But I have to go see Lucius on Sunday, and – what is he going to be like? How can I deliver the news? He doesn't want her happy, he wants her as miserable as he is! He's going to have to sit there, rotting with the information that he was a sub-par companion compared to Jean, because Jean was willing to give up his status to be with her! Jean understands that it all means nothing; the money, the power, if you can't love freely, without restraint. Without worrying about what people _think_," he says, flexing his hands for emphasis. "I mean, I want to see my father. I want him to know I don't hate him. Well, I _do, _but not wholly, not for the reasons I probably should. I know that he needs me, he needs to know that he's not being abandoned," he chokes.

God, poor Draco.

"But last time I saw him, he freaked out. He went mental – like something inside of him snapped; got really angry that I was out and about while he had to stay in there, even though I've – I've hurt people like he has.  
"Everytime I go see him it's just a reminder of who I've been, and I feel as though sometimes I'll never be able to run away from the past. I've tried accepting it, I have, but I _can't_. I can't live with myself when I no longer want to be who I was, and have to stare it in the face daily," he pulls up his dress shirt to reveal the mark, and scratches it with his middle finger the whole length. He does it with vigour, a single time, making me shiver. "And now, I have gotten into Merlin knows what with a person like _you, _and every time I look at you, I keep trying to figure out when I'm going to wake up."

"_Wake up?"_ I whisper.

"Yes, wake up!" he cries hysterically. "Hermione, do you even realize how much you've affected me?"

"I could say the same?" I reply, trying to calm him down, cheer him up, _something._

"No, you can't. You really can't! It's like I'm in some dream when I talk to you, like this isn't reality right now. Before Hogwarts this year, I sat around drinking, trying to forget everything. Didn't work! And though something to do like schoolwork distracted me, until I had something to fixate on, _you, _which I know sounds horribly stalkerish but trust me it's not – I was miserable. I had a _crush. _A crush! On you! You know how fucking ridiculous that is? How _normal _that is?"

"Well, yes – it's been odd that I've been so preoccupied with such _regular _things this year."

"Exactly! What is normalcy? I've no idea. Do you? I could break down in laughter right now – I went from having to suffer curses from the most racist man on earth to kissing a beautiful 'tainted' girl, my blood-enemy, with practically no worries in a span of less than a year! What is that?"

"Um,"

"Look, I don't need to indulge you on things I've experienced, or at least not quite yet – but my god. You make me feel wanted, and like I have a chance at not suddenly just dropping dead from misery and uselessness."

"Draco, you're scaring me."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm just so wracked with dread at going to Azkaban. And I know I need to go. And then I'm so content with you, yet so _scared _that I'm going to somehow fuck the only good relationship I have up," he finishes weakly. "_God, I'm insane."_

"You're not insane," I say, feeling tears of my own creep into my eyelashes. "You're very upset, a wreck even." I give a watery chuckle. "It's expected of you. And Draco, you affect me too. You know this, yes? We really get each other, I think. And it's so _scary _because we've known each other almost half our lives and here we are, never having gotten along until a few days ago."

He leans into me, and I accept him, pushing him down to let him lay his head on the couch arm, body across my lap. I grasp one of his hands and rub it gently with my fingertips. He takes a few deep breaths, and then his gaze moves up to mine, silvery eyes straight into my own, his expression fretful.

"Do you really think that? That we understand each other?" he pleads, searching me back and forth for a trace of hesitation.

"Yes, I do." I smile. "I even told Harry and Ron that, you can ask them."

His chest hitches, and he steadies my soothing hand by grabbing it. "Did you really? And why would _I_ ask _them_?"

"Draco, I don't want to elevate you're already risen heart rate, but Ginny asked me to ask you to go over to their house for dinner tonight, with me. To give you a chance."

"You're not serious?" he replies, stunned, rolling his eyes with a frown. "A chance? More like a death wish."

"I do imagine the intent was that you would apologize, and I suppose surrender to a blood traitor household," I say shaking my head. "But you'll come, won't you? For me?"

"For you? God, I have to, don't I? Is there anything else I can do?"

My heart sinks a bit, for some reason I thought he'd agree straight away, no hesitation.

When he sees my face, he quickly changes his tune. "No, of course there isn't. I'll go, Hermione, if it means that much. But don't expect anything short of awful," he harrumphs.

"It may not be awful if you _try," _I counter. He crosses his arms defiantly.

"They want you to see that they made an effort first, and are hoping I say 'no' to look better for extending the hand before I did. I'm going to get there confronted with hostile faces, that I'll _deserve _no doubt, except for dear Ronald, and be a rat in a trap."

"_Draco," _I scold, just slightly amused now that the weight has lifted and he's coming with me. "They're not that evil."

"You'd be surprised," he says.

"Hey now! If I know my friends, they're going to at least try to be courteous at the hands of Mrs. Weasley," I say.

"And Mr. Weasley? My Dad's # 1 best buddy? God, he really didn't do me any favours, that old man."

"Draco, it'll be okay. You going over there will be more tremendous for me than them offering you a chance, because you actually accepted it. Just show them what I see, and they'll love you." Oh Merlin, I said _love_. He is too caught up in his thoughts to notice, however.

"I dunno. I guess if I can get out _alive _is the goal for this evening. But I suppose it would've had to come to this anyways. I'm going to have to go change," he sighs.

"Draco, don't _change," _I laugh. "You already are too smart for their usual dress _now."_

"Shouldn't I dress my best though?" He asks confused.

"_No," _I state. "The worse the better, in fact. They're going to make it cozy, personal, not a business meeting."

"Funny, I think I'd feel more at ease in the Ministry." He wipes his hair frantically from his forehead slick with sweat and I touch his little white wisps, dragging them softly in place.

He sighs, giving up. "I guess if this is happening, we should forget my weep session and start some work? What time are we expected?"

"I'm glad you're concerned for the project, but relax. I spent a long time yesterday working on questions."

"_What_? Really? Well I feel like a monstrous dick, now," he pouts, and I kiss his forehead, making him a little less tense.

"Don't. I would've told you your answers were wrong anyways, or madly edited them, so it's just wasting less time."

"Ouch," he says, finally a trace of a smirk again. "A little bossy today aren't we?"

"Always," I say proudly, and chuckle. He attempts a smile at me, and I feel myself melt.

"The dinner is at six, by the way. I'm glad you're agreeing to do this, it really does mean a lot."

"Hermione, if I get to keep talking to you, I'll shag Filch." I smack his arm. "Madam Pince, too," he adds, and I make a gagging noise as he laughs.

"That is an utterly revolting thought."

"Yes, I imagine since they despise children they'd make a better match themselves. Maybe we should set them up."

"Draco! _Enough," _I put a hand on his mouth and he licks my palm, surprising me, and I pull it back like he burnt it. He smiles a big fake one at me.

"See, this is what I mean. You can take me from weepy to amused in a span of 2 minutes. I wish you were around all the time. Can you imagine if we had acted this way since we were kids?" he blurts, and then suddenly averts is gaze, a bit embarrassed.

"I think now is the perfect time to be friendly, Draco. There's nothing stopping us. And…If you like me around…I could come with you Sunday If you want," I say boldly, without thinking.

Oh, god. Of course he doesn't want me to come!

"_Come with me? _But…it's _Azkaban_, Hermione – I could _never_ ask you to do such a thing," he looks up at me, suddenly sitting up. He turns to face me, speechless, grabbing my hands.

"But I can offer it, can't I? I mean, I could just go for moral support. I'll wait in the front, or however it's set up. There're no Dementors anymore, and even if there were, I'm not afraid."

"But," he starts, words failing him.

"Just give it some thought. I understand completely if you just want to go alone, or with your Mum, or whomever. I just thought maybe…I don't know." What _am _I thinking? I've been on two dates with him, I'm acting like we've been dating months.

"Hermione….you'd really do that?"

"Of course?" I reply confused. Who wouldn't do that for someone distraught? "Isn't that what we do when we care about someone? I mean, you're very upset."

"I am, but. You know, I thought I could handle it, on my own. I guess having you there would help a little. I just don't like you, or anyone, seeing me so vulnerable," he admits. "It makes me feel like a child."

"Everyone needs a friend sometimes, Draco."

"_But I don't want to be your friend_," he murmurs.

"Excuse me?" Did I hear him correctly?

"I said I don't want to be your friend. I want you to be my….girlfriend." My heart stops and for a second all I can hear in the room is dead silence and white noise.

"You…you do?" His face turns ghostly white, and he tries to explain quickly his reasoning.

"We're already in the _Prophet, _we've met each other's parents, and I'm seeking the approval of the most important people in your life. Doesn't that warrant some title besides us 'seeing' each other?"

Dost mine ears deceive me?

"Look, I don't want to mess about for weeks for no reason, no confirmation that we're doing something worthwhile. I want to be with you. If it's too quickly, I get it, I just think what we're doing is a little extreme for just dating and –"

"I'll be your girlfriend, Draco. Shut up, and stop rambling," I tease.

Colour rushes back into his face, immediately. His grin that follows is so beautiful, I can't seem to curb my own wide one down, it almost hurts.

"But please some discretion for now? We don't reveal it to the Weasley's and Harry tonight," I laugh. "Otherwise I think you'll be murdered before we leave the dinner table."

"Agreed," he says hastily, and leans in kissing me, as if to finalize our verbal agreement.

He pulls away shyly, unsure if to continue or stop. I can't get the idea of having another boyfriend from my head. It only took him three times of being with me properly to decide he likes me enough to want me.

He wants to be with me.

"No, _don'_t _stop_," I breathe, and yank him by the collar into me, wherein he takes no time in grasping me by the waist, and curling his fingers into my back, like he can't resist me, like he needs me close.

He told me he feels like he's in a dream around me.

I just – I can't believe it. I can't believe how he's almost done a 180 in a matter of a few days, how open he is to me. It's amazing.

Right now…..all I want is to kiss him.

Something inside my core sets aflame. Hungrily, I pull on his lips with my own, stick my tongue in circles around his mouth, and begin to snog him senseless. He obliges quite quickly, yanking me closer to him by my elbows. I wrap my arms around his head while his grip remains firm, returning to my back.

After what feels like forever, very gently and slowly he drags me atop him, lowering himself down horizontally, my body in between his legs on the leather sofa.

I keep grabbing at his face or twining his hair through my fingers, unable to stop caressing his skin. He unfurls his grasp, musically dancing his way under my sweater and ghosting me with his cool hands over my hot upper back. It makes me moan.

"_God," _he groans, getting his arms all the way through my shirt and tangling my hair roughly, scratching my scalp lightly. He wraps his spread legs around the back of my knees, and then runs his hands with pressure up and down the nape of my neck. Over and over.

I try to do the same to him, it feels _amazing_, almost a sensual massage; and the response I get is he rolling his eyes to the back of his head, emitting a little 'uh'. And I'll admit it.

_It turns me on.  
_Knowing that I have this effect on him. Knowing I _can_ do this. I don't want to seem like a naïve little girl anymore, I want to experience what every other girl has claimed is the 'best thing ever'.

I've _never _felt such a sensation before. Draco was right all along, you just have to go with it.

So that's what I do. I touch and graze and _lick _even, until I find out where he likes it most, which is what he's also gauging for me.

I find that scratching and pulling the hair right beside his ears close to the top of his neckline is what he likes most when I kiss him. And I _think_ rubbing my neck is most pleasurable for me _until_ he takes a sole finger and lightly trails it, barely grazing the skin, down my spine, near the middle of my back, then back up again.

It causes me to immediately arch, push my chest into his, and my head lilt back to the ceiling. My stomach makes a leap every time he gets in between my shoulder blades, and I let out a gasp, a strained gasp to match it.

"_Does that feel good_?" he purrs, continuing the torture of stroking me, while biting my ear lobe and licking the shell of where he's speaking.

"_Yes, y-yes."_ His sultry voice paralyzes me.

I stop my hands due to the influx of blissful feeling, and dig my nails into his shoulders, wherein he hisses.

"_Should we stop_ _before I tear your clothes off?" _he asks, rumblinga sexy little titter from his throat before kissing _my _throat and lips one last time.

As he sits up straight and I lean back on my knees, we're both panting very hard. I noticed it when I was leaning on him, but he's got a sizeable erection. I'm very glad he can practice restraint because though I don't feel ready for it, who knows if I'd be able to resist him if he _tried_ to undress me.

He's looking at me with hungry eyes, his 'dessert' expression, and god knows what my own eyes hold. I just can't stop looking at him.

"W-was that good for you too?" I ask him, finally catching my breath.

"_Good _for me? I think that was the best thing that's happened to me in 2 years," he says laughing.

I tuck a stray hair behind my ear, and look down mortified. "No need to exaggerate."

"I wasn't, trust me. You found the spot, darling," he assures me, raising his eyebrow sexily.

"Beside your ears?" I ask, and he nods, biting his lower lip.

"And I think _yours _is on your back, hmm?" Slowly he leans into my kneeling figure, and moves his hand to my back again. My breath catches as he takes his finger excruciatingly up my back over top of my sweater.

"_Uh," _I shiver, and then shake him away. "Are you quite done?"

"I'm pretty sure if we were able to bottle your moans of pleasure and sell it, we could make millions off of it," he says smirking.

"_Draco, _please. You're embarrassing me."

"No really, nothing turns me on more than knowing I made my lady feel good at the hands of my….well hands I suppose in this case. And you have the most delicious little groans, I'd like to hear them more often." he wiggles his brows suggestively and I smack him.

"You strike me as someone who would be the other way around, would be turned on by receiving." I guess that's a bit of an insult, but looking at his greedy past, it fits, right?

"You would think that, but true domination is being able to make somebody fall at your feet with desire because you know how to please them, rather than having them please you."

"Huh, I guess I've never given it a thought, really, since I've never really been in the situation." I contemplate his words for a moment, and cross my legs on the couch, scooting back so I can lean back on the opposite arm, parallel to Draco. "Explain more," I challenge him and he tilts his head.

"Really? An intellectual debate on sexual personalities, huh? At least I'll be interested."

I roll my eyes.

"I thought we were all adults here? Just because I'm inexperienced doesn't make me a moron."

"Don't give me that, I never accused you of anything, my dear. But as much as I like arguing with you, constitutional rights aren't the most fun thing to discuss." I give him the death glare, he clears his throat. "Anyways, back to being dominant. If you take a sex act like oral for example, most would agree it's a submissive activity; you're going down on your partner, you're trying to get them off. They're doing nothing for you, you're submitting to their wishes. I suppose if you like being told what to do, that fits. But a dominant person, which I am, by the way, and I think you are too, would look at it as an opportunity to control their lover by stimulating them in a way only they can. If I can make a girl scream in orgasmic delight, even if she begs me to stop because it's too intense, and I keep going because it's going to feel amazing in a few seconds, to me that's a victory over her. _I _made her come. It's the same with guys too. I think if a girl can get the job done, she knows what they like and how to use it, right?"

Huh. I process this information, unsure of what to do with it.

I don't think I've ever had frank sexual discussion before. With Ginny it's always been too _personal, _I don't like hearing about what Harry does, or what she does to him. I'd rather her be vague. But I think it's still not working, I can only picture her with _him, _and ew, now I'm picturing Draco with Pansy.

"I think I agree with you. And wait, what do you mean you think I'm dominant?" How would he even _know?_

"Hermione, you need to be on top. In school, and probably literally in bed." I blush for the millionth time. "You crave control, remember? You'd hate to 'fail' so to speak, thus you'd love to be the one to orchestrate what happens in the bed_room_."

"I suppose," I reply, unable to push away the images of Draco and his ex away.

'What's the matter? Too odd or personal of a topic?" He moves down closer to me and pats my knee.

"No," I reply, "I have no problem talking about things in a theoretical manner. I'm just thinking about you and who you've had sex with."

"_Oh."_ His turn to flush pink. "Sorry. I don't know if it'll make you feel better, but I've only been with Pansy. Not that I think you thought of me as a ladies man or anything."

"No I didn't," I reply and he pouts a little. "I guess that's a good thing, it just makes me a little uncomfortable, but I imagine that every person has to struggle with the thought of past lovers."

"Yeah, sorry. Maybe this talk was a bit too soon. I certainly don't like the thought of you and the Weasel _kissing_."

Something about hearing about Ron and Lavender having sex has been bugging me for a while, so I have to ask in the light of this.

"Well, it's not like we're 13 anymore, we should be able to talk about everything. So, may I ask you a question?"

"Sure?" He looks a tad scared.

"Do wizards have contraceptives? Condoms? Birth control pills? I've never seen anyone talk about it, and it's scary thinking that just like that a person who doesn't know any better could get a disease, or worse, a girl could get pregnant."

"Condoms? Pills?" he asks puzzled, brow furrowed. My turn to look horrified.

"The pills make sure a women isn't able to become pregnant by taking one daily, it's almost 100% effective. A condom is a protective latex covering for the, uh, penis. It's so he can ejaculate into it and not get it into the girl, so she won't chance getting pregnant, or get diseases; gay men use it too," I reply shrilly.

Draco looks at me for a moment, and then bursts out laughing.

"_What?"_

"_Ha ha ha ha!_ That's positively primeval. Why do you look so shocked?"

"Because you're laughing at safe sex! You've never heard of contraceptives!"

"No, Hermione, listen," he clears his throat stifling the laughter. "My mother told me when I started dating Pansy that I had to learn an enchantment before and after we had sex. Awkward, really."

"A _spell?" _Now, I'm intrigued. "How does that work?"

"I really don't know. But before you go at it, you cast 'Nulllus contagium,' so you can't receive or transmit any infection, not that I had any, so perhaps if you had one you'd feel something."

"And the after spell?"

"Eradico Infantia," he replies with a grimace.

"_Eradicate babies?_ That's twisted!" Disgusting!

"I think it's simply for the chance that you got your sperm up in there; it doesn't work if you've been pregnant for more than a few days, I had to read this awful St. Mungo's pamphlet if you were wondering how I knew that. If you want to, you know….get rid of the fetus….you have to take a potion," he gulps. "Clearly whoever invented the spell was awful with the name decision."

I shudder. "Okay, enough of that for today. Please, god, anything else."

Draco leans into me and hugs me. "I apologize if that made you uncomfortable," he murmurs.

"No, I asked, it's okay. I'm glad I've been educated, I suppose," I reply, clutching him.

"Yes, but we went from a hot snog sesh to …._that. _My being turned on escalated quickly. I think we need to ramp up the mood again; Did you want to practice our song for a bit perhaps, take your mind off it before we have to visit hell?"

"So _dramatic_. Yes, I would actually. Some violin play is exactly what I need right now." I shake my head, hoping images of babies and disease will go away.

"Great," he smiles, pulling away from me. "I'll get my beautiful instrument as well. Upstairs or down here?"

"Down here, so we can concentrate easier," I click my tongue, and he grins innocently at me, looking upwards.

"Okay, fine. But since we'll be separated at the Weasley's, you owe me one hour of making out redeemable whenever I want."

I scoff, "Fat chance, Mr. Malfoy, we'll see how it goes first."

He sticks out his tongue. "Mean! We practicing vocals today?"

"Yes, we should. I gave it some thought, and why don't we sing it together? It would make both of us less embarrassed, and honestly, it doesn't have that many lines."

"I would love to hear you sing." I look at him, and he's staring at me with sincerity. "I'm pretty rubbish anyways, so at least we can please McGonagall with our 'team effort', right?"

"Great," I smile. "Let's set up."

* * *

I feel the rush of cold wind surround me, and I land in unfamiliar territory with Miss Granger, a forest.

Though I have been attempting to quell my anxiety since she dropped the bomb, the full weight of where I am about to step foot engulfs me. What the hell kind of business do I have going into the lion's den, when I am a lowly snake?

All well, Hermione is in a fairly good mood right now, so I don't want to ruin it.

"The house is about a 5 minute walk down that hill right up here."

"Lovely," I gulp.

"Oh pish posh, you'll be fine Draco!" She's very happy, almost punch-drunk, because our practice session went quite well. After rehearsing our singing voices for _two hours_, we managed to get it in sync properly with the instruments.

It's quite the somber tune, but it made it slightly easier for us to sing it for so goddamn long. Hermione has a lovely voice, not the best ever, mind you, but it's clear and gentle. She can match the original very well.

"I can't believe you think you`re a rubbish singer! You're so _cute," _she squeaks, nudging me into a bush practically.

"_Cute?_ Oh, please, I sound like a frog."

"Cheer up Mr. Sour Boots, you're just a little too British sounding, but that's okay, so is Matthew Bellamy."

"God, what is with you?" I laugh, pulling her into me around her shoulders.

"I don't know, I'm just so _happy _we are actually fairly decent at our performance! That was only the second day we tried!"

"Well, we _are _pretty gifted, aren't we? Even McGonagall agrees."

"Yes, yes, but tomorrow, we have to rehearse ALL DAY!" she jumps, excited and flustered all at once. "And finish the questions! Because though I cracked a good chunk of them , I'd like your feedback."

"Why the rush? Not that I'm complaining, I get to see you again, but we still have close to a week. And it's not even due for another 2 when we get back."

"Well, my parents get home on Saturday night, and then we'll only have until Tuesday. If I'm going with you Sunday, that's at least a few hours, and I still need to finish my Charms essay."

"You mean the completed one you were telling me about?" She flushes.

"Guess you were paying attention," she mumbles.

"I usually do, Hermione. What's up?" I stop us walking, and push her to face me, her figure glowing in the almost diminished sunset, the moon hanging above us.

"I don't know, I guess I'm just worried about what's going to happen when we get back to school? What people will say? Maybe we can dodge a bullet tonight, but I know nobody will take the sight of us together very well."

"You're worried about your reputation then?" I ask, trying not to frown. I expected this to come sooner, actually.

"I _guess, _more that I'll get asked why I'm hanging out with you, and I know that everyone will be watching me like a hawk. Which will be _annoying; _every time I leave the common room it'll be 'Oh, is she going off with _Draco?' _Not that I care what they think, well mostly, it's just that I know from Harry's experience, it's difficult to get things done when people watch you. And if everyone is hostile, it'll be hard to focus on work unless we're in the library, and I'd rather get as much quality time with you, especially for practice, in now. Does that make sense?"

I soften a bit. She's worried about _school _more than what people will say. That's a little uplifting, to say the least.

"Yes. And in any case, if they bother you, there's always room in the Slytherin boys dormitory if you need some quiet time," I wink. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"Thanks, but I'm sure the Slytherin's will be as hostile towards me as Gryffindor is to you."

"I don't think so, actually. There aren't enough of us that disliked you before still here. There are only about 10 of us from previous years. Nott thinks you're attractive, anyways."

"_Theodore Nott_? Why though? Wasn't his father as involved as yours with You Know Who?"

"Yes, but if you paid more attention to my life, you'd notice that he never liked the people I hung around with for more than a laugh."

"What do you mean?"

"He's never been twisted like me, never really cared for the spotlight. His father is pretty crazy though; never cared about blood purity, he was seen molesting his victims. I know it's been hard for Nott just as much as me, but his father was never his role model so he's not as fucked up about the whole ordeal. Would kill without restraint if he was ordered to when other's hesitated. He's locked up for longer than Lucius."

"Oh." She looks uncomfortable, so I try to sum it up.

"Yeah, anyways. Nott isn't a bad person. He just got caught up like I did, only he knew it was pointless long before me. My initial point being was that we were talking about you during your audition, and I showed him your letter to me."

"_Really? _Why?"

"Because he said you were an, _ahem, _'delicious strawberry'. He's pretty bad with girls, likes anything that's female, not that you don't deserve the, er, compliment, but he's a horn dog."

"Gross," she grimaces.

"But I think we're friends or something, so he promised to tell me who his partner was if I told him too, hence me showing him the letter bit. I had those shots with him, by the way. That's why I showed up drunk in the library. He needed it to talk about Millicent his partner, and I did too because I was scared to meet you alone."

"Scared?" She contemplates it for a moment. "I thought you disliked me so much you didn't want to see me unless intoxicated."

_What?_

"_Hermione? _No! No, no, no , no absolutely no! It was because I found you extremely appealing and it was a frightening thought to sit with you alone. Why else would I say you were hot when you swear or make lewd comments behind the bookcase?"

"I don't know….I thought you were trying to annoy me," she confesses, a little shamefaced. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I chuckle, "A little insulting, but yeah, I get where it would stem from. Anyways, since Nott knows I had a crush on you, though I never outright admitted it to him, if you ever seek salvation in old Hoggy Woggy's, you're welcome to come on up to the room. I'll force Nott to go bunk with Graham."

"Wouldn't you like that?" She asks impishly.

"Too much," I reply huskily, pulling her into me in embrace.

"No, let's go! Let's go! I'm sorry for bringing all this business up; we can worry about the project tomorrow. School and horrible people are killing my buzz, I was in a good mood! It should carry out for a little while longer!'

"Your 'buzz'? You are _really_ weird when you're uppity."

She pouts, but I wipe it off by kissing her on the lips.

"No, don't start that now, it's already six! We have to walk down the hill!" She pushes me away but I grab her upper arms.

"Ever heard of being fashionably late?" I trap her against a nearby tree, and silence her with my tongue.

"_Drac-mmph." _Her attempts at pushing me off of her are futile. Luckily for me, the one advantage I have over her is height; she's fairly petite, so I can almost pin her.

After a minute or two, she stops moving, and stops responding as well, making it no more fun. Her being still makes me feel like a creep attacking her.

I let her go. "Okay, let's go, you unadventurous minx."

She grins and then leans in to whisper, "_Co-operate and I'll give you your wish from earlier. An hour of making out, _whenever_ you want."_

the tone of her voice makes me shudder. "I hate you."

"No you don't." She flicks my nose, and stalks away from me. It takes me a minute to follow her trail, I'm in a daze from her tantalizing presence like a lovesick puppy.

"That's blackmail, you know. I thought you were supposed to be in Gryffindor!" I yell, catching up with her.

"And I thought you were supposed to be cunning? Shouldn't you have foreseen that?"

It's never a dull moment with this one.

As we reach the top of the hill, I have the sobering realization that we're about to have a bunch of _moments _with the occupants of the tall crooked house at the bottom. None of them will be dull, but I doubt they'll be pleasant either.

"You ready?" She asks, the image of 'The Burrow' evidently making her a little calmer. My happier face from a moment ago disappears.

"No."

"Well, prepare yourself," she laughs nervously, walking again. We get down the slope quickly, I hold onto Hermione's hand so she doesn't fall.

As the home looms nearer, it looks more and more daunting, rising up like that into the sky, looking like an awkward stone prison. A stench of chicken coop fills my nostrils, in fact, some are ambling around nearby behind some wire. I can hear and feel the wind rap against the windows, through which nobody can be seen, the inside lit dully by candle.

I'm trying hard not to judge immediately, but it does look a tad bit shabby, a bit poorly made. A sign announcing its title, as if it were a manor, stands unevenly in the earth a few metres before the front entrance. _The Burrow._

I know I can charm my way through most people, so I just hope that Weasley's mother takes kindly to flattery, and doesn't see through me.

Hermione squeezes my hand one last time before letting me go and giving me the look that says 'Good luck', before stepping up onto a welcome mat and using the wooden knocker.

She ushers me onto it with her, and I join her, holding my breath, butterflies assaulting my stomach as the person behind it swings open the door.

I thank the stars that it's Ginevra, or Ginny. I don't know if she wants me to call her as that. She's wearing a casual green robe with jeans, I suppose everyone except me is used to Muggle fashion mixing.

"Hi, 'Mione," she smiles a bit tightly, giving a small wave. Hermione returns it, saying nothing, while Ginny darts a look at me and raises her eyebrows.

"So you came, huh?"

I purse my lips and turn to Hermione, as if she can give me a cheat sheet on how to talk to these people. She tilts her head roughly towards Ginny like I'm an idiot, urging me with her eyes to respond.

"Yes, I came," I gulp, emitting barely a breath.

"I'm glad to see you're intimidated_, Draco_," she addresses me, smiling, challenging me to get angry at her for calling me that.

"Well, at least _somebody_ can enjoy it, Ginny_," _ I reply, trying to smile back. I don't want her to think I'm being rude.

"Oh, the boy _can_ play," she laughs. I let out a strangled titter, unsure of where my tongue disappeared to. "Come in, you're late. Well not really, it's only 6:08, as Dad reminded me three times, but Mum decided that we should all be sat down when you arrive so we can eat right away."

"So we can distract ourselves in case our conversation is awkward?" Hermione asks, walking inside and ditching her coat onto a rack by a pile of boots.

"Yes, mainly Ron. You can put your coat there too, if you'd like," Ginny tells me.

I do as she says, my stomach plunging into my intestines. Oh god, the Weasel and Potter are waiting for me.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione asks.

"Out back. There wasn't enough space in here, but we have a heating spell so it won't be cold. We're under the tarp. George and his new girlfriend are here too, you see." Hermione and she share a look, one that is evidently girl coded, while I want to drop dead because it just adds another person to the list of who I don't want to see.

"Andromeda is also here with Teddy." Ginny looks at me apologetically for the massive crowd awaiting my trial._  
_

Wait. _Andromeda._

Are you _fucking _kidding me?

Are you KIDDING ME?

Andromeda and _Teddy_, really?

"_Oh,"_ Hermione says in a completely defeated tone. She looks at me and I refuse to stare back, completely livid. She tries to change the subject. "Erm, how did you know we were here then?"

"Oh, been waiting here for a bit, Dad keeps coming in and then leaving in a huff, like it's been 3 hours instead of 5 minutes."

Seriously? Fuck this. I don't want to see them, not here, not now.

"Er…is something wrong?" Ginny asks, sensing some growing tension when Hermione fails to be amused by her story.

"I've never met my aunt before," I state coldly before Hermione can. Ginny's face grows white.

"Oh….bollocks. That's why she was so hesitant to come over, then. My mother thought it would be a _good _thing to have you together 'at last'. I thought she simply meant because of wartime crap you hadn't seen her in a while."

"Well, lucky me, right?"

"_Draco," _Hermione croaks sadly. She reaches out to grab my arm but I gently push it off with my hand.

"Just don't. It's not your fault, if it was a good intention I shouldn't be upset. Makes it about a hundred times more difficult to walk into that room, but you're lucky I like you enough to do this."

"You should feel lucky she's giving you the time of day, Malfoy." Ginny replies, crossing her arms, while Hermione whimpers at our conflict.

"I know I'm extremely fortunate. However, you have no idea what has happened to my aunt. She was disowned by the Black family, by my mother and _lovely _aunt Bellatrix, I'm sure you remember her?" Ginny stiffens and I nod. "Yes, I knew you would. My father was extremely rude to her, and my grandparents, though they loved me, were not very forgiving people."

"Maybe it's time to make amends, then? You're here, obviously you like Hermione a lot to even step foot in my house knowing who's in it. Why make the mistake your mum did?"

I deeply sigh.

"Maybe you're right."

"_Excuse me? _Did you just….?" The red haired vixen in front of me is dumbfounded I agree with her.

"I told you he's different," Hermione murmurs, and I can't help but smirk.

"Well, I'll be. Malfoy having some sense. You know, if you try to make me like you more, I can help you out, I _am _dating your number 1 enemy, remember?"

"I remember," failing to be amused at her attempts to calm me down.

"Good, keep it up, giving in suits you better than assholeish-ness."

"_Ginny," _Hermione scolds, where her friend turns sheepish.

"My bad. Let's all come on out, time is a wastin' and my dad is impatient because he still has a grudge from the petty squabble with your dad, Malfoy. Might as well not make him angrier, eh?" She saunters into the back, where I drudge along, now feeling faint, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm going to call you Malfoy, is that okay? I don't like Draco, it's too…_weird."_

I look at my surroundings as we pass; a crowded kitchen, a cozy fireplace room (maybe a sitting room?), and a breakfast table. I look above me as we pass a long winding staircase that goes up who knows how many floors. It's an interesting house to say the least.

"It is rather odd. What should I call you?"

"Eh, just call me Ginny. Weasley is too generic, there're too many of us. And if you _ever _call me by my first name, you're dead," she warns. "Anyways. Good luck!" she sings, as we reach the back door.

She opens it up, dances out of it and says 'Our Guests have arrived!"

As I step out into a well-lit orange tent-like structure, what feels like a million faces swoop around to look at me. Half look at me with a snarl, the others apprehensive. Potter is staring me down along with Mr. Weasley and dear George, while the original Weasel is fixated on Hermione, who is pushing me to go and sit next to Andromeda.

My aunt, who I've never seen until I take a seat, is a picture of my mother _and_ Bellatrix; a kind face, blue eyes with dark hair. I can't look at her properly, and neither can she towards me. My second cousin is seated in a high chair, barely a year old, smiling and bouncing like only a child could in the face of such a strained atmosphere.

Mrs. Weasley is at a loss of what to say, like Andromeda, and Ginny is no longer able to smooth things over.

Dear lord, help me.


	35. Confession

_**When I was young, I was so full of fear,**_  
_**I hid behind anger, held back the tears,**_  
_**It was me against the world, I was sure that I'd win;**_  
_**But the world fought back, punished me for my sins,**_  
_**I felt so alone, so insecure, I blamed you instead, made sure I was heard.**_  
_**They tried to warn me of my evil ways, but I couldn't hear what they had to say:**_  
_**I was wrong; self destruction's got me again; I was wrong.**_

- **I Was Wrong, Social Distortion**

* * *

The lord evidently doesn't deem my situation worthy enough to help me.

Neither a hurricane nor assassin has come to put me out of my misery as I sit down at my rival's dinner table.

"Hi," Hermione says meekly to no one, staring down at her empty plate on the table, unable to regard me or her friends. In fact, _nobody_ seems to be able to look anybody else in the eye once I've been settled.

The only sound following her is the happy infantile chuckle of Teddy, who slaps his high chair in anticipation of food. Or maybe he has already developed a sick sense of humour and enjoys watching tension-filled painful silence.

George and his (admittedly) cute blonde girlfriend are at the other end of the table (Andromeda occupies the head where I'm sitting), gazing at each other as if they want to say something out loud.

Hermione is brave enough to continue. "Um, so how are Bill and Fleur? I guess they're too busy with baby preparations to visit?"

Mrs. Weasley clears her throat quietly, deciding she must be a good host. "Yes, actually Fleur and Bill are packing to go to see Fleur's parents in Lyon in a few days. They're doing well, dear, last I saw. They just want to visit before she gets too big to Apparate safely, you know."

Hermione turns a bit white at the mention of Lyon, having just been to the country with me, the elephant in the room, a few short days ago. Fucking France.

"That's a good idea….so, no complications or anything? They're getting along fine?"

God, Granger is grasping at straws. There are only so many questions you can ask about babies without going into gross unnecessary detail.

"Yes, just fine," Mrs. Weasley answers too earnestly.

And then….nothing. There's nothing else to say, and everyone is too nervous to speak up for fear of getting people upset.

Somebody coughs, and you can hear uncomfortable shifting in seats. It feels as if a century has passed until somebody finally speaks up.

"Okay, I guess I'm going to have to be the one to say it. Are we just going to sit here awkwardly all night, exchanging the same pleasantries over and over, or are we actually going to you know, break the ice?" This comes from George. Everyone's head flickers to him as if he just screamed an obscenity. He looks more or less bored, rather than angry.

"Break the ice, dear?" his mother asks confused.

"Look, I'm just going to put it out there, but we _all_ saw Hermione and dear Draco over here kissing in _The Prophet," _Mrs. Weasley groans. "And when _I_ saw that, my initial reaction was that April Fool's had come early, but then it would've been my birthday and I hadn't received any cards or cake which would be rather rude on all your parts, hmm?" His attempt at humour falls flat, but he doesn't let it bother him as he continues. "What I'm trying to say is Hermione has always been mightily perceptive, and I seriously doubt unless she's been bludgered in the head that she would even be here with Malfoy. Considering what he's said to us, it matters to her that we somehow accept him . Assuming you want to be accepted, eh Malfoy?"

He leans in on his elbows, enjoying himself now the spotlight is on him. "That was the intent," I reply carefully, figuring silence is weakness.

"Well good, because it's going to take some hard work. That's the reason everyone is here, right? To receive an apology? Anyone, no? No response? Too stubborn? Okay, since nobody else is asking for one, why don't you start?"

"Start…asking for an apology?" I clarify, confused.

"No, no," he chuckles. "Why don't you explain yourself? Start with why you're after our champion Muggle-Born. Frankly, if she sees something in you, that's all her business, but since we already know her good qualities, I'd like to hear why you're only noticing them now."

I look to Hermione wanly, who just shrugs, and adopts a mangled expression.

"Hmm, why are you so afraid? I don't think I've ever seen you with your mouth closed for more than 5 minutes."

"Now _George," _his mother warns him, darting a look at my reaction and then back to her son.

"I'm afraid…because everyone in this room is judging me on my every action. No doubt, my two classmates sitting across from me ," I point to Potter and Weasel, "are silently berating me for not being more courteous by greeting the table as I sat down here."

Potter furrows his brow, and Weasel snarls at me. Guess I'm right.

"True, but you do deserve the scutiny, you know." George's girlfriend looks slightly amused.

"I do." He raises his eyebrows. "I came here expecting to make numerous apologies, and have them be treated with sincerity that I suspect nobody would trust."

"You could try us," Ginny says, leaning out from beside Hermione, so I can see that she's staring at me with interest.

"I could. One thing though," I pause, gathering the nerve to speak my mind. "I don't feel I deserve being put in the same room as my aunt, who I've never met before, when neither of my parents are here with me. Any apology I could give her wouldn't really mean anything, because this is the one fault in my relationships that isn't mine."

I slowly look up at my Aunt Andromeda with repentant eyes for the first time, whose own are filled with sadness.

"You've never _met?..." _Mrs. Weasley looks horrified that she made this horrid arrangement. George looks momentarily stunned, perhaps shamed he brought it up.

"No, we've never met, Molly. That's why I didn't want to come initially."

"But – why didn't you – oh, Merlin's beard!" Mr. Weasley puts a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder, glaring at me as if this is somehow my fault.

"Relax, dear. Truth be told, I was curious to see what he was like. I wasn't sure if I'd ever get to meet Draco. It's been more than 20 years since I've spoken to Narcissa and Lucius. They kept away from Ted and I, as did Bellatrix and Rodolphus. I regret that my parents were so guarded about their blood purity."

"Same here," I reply morosely, with a dark laugh in my voice. Potter scoffs at me audibly; I glower at him.

"I've never blamed you for it. Anyone with Lucius Malfoy in their life could be easily persuaded if they got to witness his 'nice' side, as Narcissa surely did" she sniffs. "But with Ted gone…..Sirius, Remus and Nymphadora, I confess I'd have liked tie have some kind of family to talk to. It would be good for Teddy, too."

She looks adoringly at her grandson and I feel a jolt of _sympathy_ for this woman. I admit I never gave her a second thought really, my father always told me to stay away from her and her family, so I did.

"I don't believe he would be a good influence on Ted, Dromeda," the Weasel spits out, facing me along with Potter.

"Now Ron, that's a horrible thing to say," My aunt replies, looking troubled.

"Yeah, but it's true," Potter says, defending his friend. "Even if you don't blame him for having horrible parents, look at his record. Not very redeeming, is it?"

"Why don't we start eating, hmm? Arthur, you can start passing out the roast!" Mrs. Weasley cries shrilly, trying to stifle the oncoming battle of words. She lifts the plate up and almost tosses into her husband's lap, and then grabs potatoes, doling a clunky spoonful onto her plate, before hastily shoving them to Potter.

Potter rolls his eyes, and shakes his head while doing what his host says.

"Oh Mum, you always interrupt progress. We need to let the anger out. Malfoy, what's your counter argument?" George asks while popping a slice of roast into his mouth.

"I don't understand what you mean," I reply, as calmly as possible.

"George, I really don't think –"

"Think what, Mum? It's a good approach? I'm letting the man speak! Now, Malfoy, Ron thinks you're a bad influence, and given your past, that would be true. So what makes you a good influence presently? What makes you a lovely person to hang around?"

"Nothing!" Weasel shouts, banging his fists on the table.

"Stop it for a moment little brother," George says, unmoved by the anger, pointing from him lazily to me.

"Uh" You know what, if I want this to go anywhere real, time for honesty. "Buggered if I know."

George laughs, Weasel growls, and Hermione tilts her head back and sighs.

"Look, I can answer that, okay?" Hermione interjects. "It's not fair to just have us come here and bombard him with interrogation."

"Yes it is, it's what you agreed to, isn't it?" Potter reminds her.

"No, we agreed that you would give him a chance, which George seems to be the only person acquiescing to."

"_Hey!"_

"And Ginny too," Hermione adds exasperated.

"Ginny?" Weasel asks, staring daggers at his sister, who merely rolls her eyes.

"Somebody had to be an adult," she responds. "Given Mum and Dad have gone mute."

"_Ginny," _Mr. Weasley scolds in a low voice.

"What!"

"You know that this isn't our matter to settle, dear. It's yours. We have no authority over Hermione, but we have our reservations about her guest. And since I don't particularly wish to get angry tonight, we've merely provided a place for it to happen between you lot."

"And for that, we thank you," Hermione nods to Mr. Weasley, in which he nods uncertainly back.

"Okay, well fine then, tell me why I should give the idiot a clean slate, go on," Potter replies, evidently angered by his girlfriend's actions. He juts his hand out at us to speak, then crosses his arms.

"You don't have to give him a clean slate. I would never ask you to do that. I would like you to try and _get along_ because I like him."

"Yes, but, _why_?" Potter asks, agitated.

"There're lots of reasons. But the ones you should be concerned about aren't ones I'd name first. Mainly you should try to forgive because he's finished with being involved in an environment hell-bent on keeping the gene pool and society 'clean'. He's shown remorse for his past actions, and even though I can't forgive him for some things, he explained then to me and apologized, which he would've never done before last year."

"And that's it?"

"No – no, of course not," she replies hotly, her face glowing pink.

"I can't wrap my head around even _that_, though, Hermione. He looked down on you for years because of what his parents said, looked down on all of the great people sitting at this table, and you expect me to believe that by coincidence he decides to pursue you after his family was deemed as prejudiced by the public? What would be a smart, tactical way of looking good again?"

_That's_ why he's so goddamn suspicious. Not just because it's me, but because of something I'd (laughably) probably be told to do, and have _done_.

"Listen, Potter. I think we both know that even though my father made bad decisions, he and my family never wanted to belong in what happened last year," I say, defending myself.

"No, of course not, your dad was just a coward like you, who went on that side in the first place just in case things went bad. He didn't care about what side he supported, about their aims, so long as the one in charge at the time made him look good and powerful."

So it's going to be like this?  
Hm, normally I'd yell at Potter for insulting my father like that, but he's hit a harsh truth, hasn't he?

"You're absolutely right," I say, looking directly in my opposers eyes, whose demeanour, to my gratification, waivers.

"_Excuse me?"_

At this admission of a fault from my enemy, somehow I find my voice, determined to prove to these people I'm not a fucking dunce anymore.

"You heard me correctly. I agreed with you. Up until recently, I was indeed my father's son, trying to grovel and charm my way in with the 'worthy people'. I'm pretty sure if it's not an inherited trait to do this, it's something instilled in every single person in my family tree. I realized just before coming to school this year, that I'm extremely lucky not to have been locked up. Why not show some appreciation for it? Change my ways a bit?"

The Weasel scoffs like Potter, and decides to join in.

"Since when have you _ever _been grateful? You're the rich snob that nobody actually likes, that puts himself above everyone else, that takes a verbal stab at anybody he had the chance to. Just because you strayed into the morally grey and _want _ to come _into_ the good doesn't mean you can. I'll always remember you as the pretentious prick that insulted me and my family. That had a vendetta against my best friend. That admitted freely that you _hoped _the girl sitting next to you would die from staring at a basilisk."

Fucking bastard. _How does he know that?_

"_Is that true?" _Hermione asks, stunned, staring at me in a new light. Or darkness.

"I was 12. I was completely convinced that Muggles were like literal lepers, and anyone with less than half-blood wasn't worth my time," I say strained, trying not to strangle the boy across from me. Who _made _this seating arrangement?

"So? You made the same kind of comments up until 3 years ago."

"Yes, because I had _nothing else_ to insult her for," I say as if this is obvious; it should be.

"But why insult her at all! How can you say you're not prejudiced, when it could be an act?"

"I insulted her because she was _your _friend_! _Do you honestly think I would go so far as to _kiss _her and come _here_ if I was completely prejudiced?" I reply to the idiot. "It might surprise you to know that though my family likes to hide it, there wasn't always a time when the Malfoy's hated Muggles, Muggle-borns and people who associated with either of them. It's just an _act_ so nobody steps a toe out of line."

Mr. Weasley grunts. "I find that a little hard to believe, Draco. I've met plenty of Malfoy's in my lifetime, and none have treated myself or any of the people I associate with very nicely because we aren't rich or high-up. I haven't heard anything good about anybody in your family, in fact."

Mrs. Weasley looks anguished that her husband has decided to speak, but doesn't intervene. I'm a bit non-plussed but I won't back down now.

"Well, no, you wouldn't have would you? They were still scumbag's; they still hung out with the elite folk and people who could offer them something. But up until the Statute of Secrecy, they loved going to the parlours of those rich Muggle's during the Enlightenment. The first Lucius Malfoy almost married Queen Elizabeth I, and frankly, if that had happened, maybe you'd all like me a little better with a little less pure blood."

"How do you know all that?" Hermione asks, forgetting the basilisk, infinitely intrigued at this history lesson.

"Who cares?" Weasel mutters.

"I read?" I admit, shrugging, ignoring the idiot. "I have a giant collection of diaries stashed away in my house in a vault. The Ministry wouldn't have taken them away during an investigation because they aren't dark objects, are they? My father told me not to look at them when I was younger, and I didn't hold any interest then. But I read them all this past year when I realised they were written by people Iwas related to. My family's been very good at keeping secrets, even from me, but when I confronted my mother she fessed up."

"Well if they loved Muggle's so much, why be against them now?" Potter is regretfully captivated too, apparently.

"Because the Ministry of Magic had just been formed, and actually, a lot of us aristocrats vehemently opposed the Statute implementation. Obviously when it was imposed though, and we were not supposed to associate with Muggles to reveal our magic ability, my family did a 180 and pretended like they supported the decision all along. I found an old newspaper clipping of someone shaking the hand of the Minister when they passed it, at the rally explaining the situation, smiling like the fakers they were."

"Oh." The Gryffindor seeker has nothing to say.

"Yep. Sounds like my family, huh?" Hermione passes me the potatoes tentatively, and I scoop a hearty amount onto my plate to be polite, glad I finally have a word in.

"Okay, thank you for the unnecessary explanation about your ancestors, what has that got to with you?" Weasel asks me, unmoved by my speech.

"It has _everything_ to do with me. I realized only recently how vital it is in understanding the fact that I have no clue who I want to be, and have no excuse for what I've done in the past." I swallow heavily, finding it hard to continue with so many people here. "As I explained to Hermione, when you're put in Slytherin you get an automatic bad-reputation as someone untrustworthy. On top of that, coming from a family like mine, if you do anything to dishonour your name, it's a thing that must be remedied immediately. Why do you think my father was so vengeful about things that happened to me at Hogwarts? Why I got so goddamn angry? Because it's all about appearances, and I was never able to appear _well. _I did awful stuff to all of you out of jealousy and petty unwarranted hatred. I didn't even really follow my father's direction, he wanted me to be friends with Potter for Merlin's sake! We hate each other. I still did enough to try and gain his respect, which I somehow wanted so badly, and never did. My mother is no saint, but she's separating from Lucius, she's very different. She's marrying another Wizard, still high society, but I've found to be a good person unconcerned with what people think." I notice at this, Andromeda shifts in her seat, very confused, if not awed. "And I'm…, I'm not a good person. I want to _change. _I need help trying to do so. Which is why I think you'll agree, I would be drawn to someone like Hermione, who couldn't be truly unkind if she tried to be."

"_Draco," _Hermione breathes, disbelieving I admitted every insecurity I hold, and flattered.

"Amazing," George says, whose head is tilted onto his bent elbow resting on the table.

"What's amazing?" Ginny questions.

"You really surprised me, Malfoy. I came here with the intent of being able to joke about your uncomfortable fake apologies after you left Hermione disappointed, but I actually sort of believe you. Doesn't mean I like you, but, good you're not lying."

"Well I don't believe him," Weasel adds. "At least not about why he likes Hermione. You've done so much to her in the past. Even if you're repentant, and you do feel bad about what you did, everybody hates you. It would still make sense for you to pursue her and make people like you more, then drop her once you're finished with her. And if you hurt her, I swear I'll-" he can barely finish, he's splutteringly livid.

I sigh. "But _why _would I do that? I'm not that daft, Weasley, come on. Hermione isn't stupid enough to be able to see through any façade I would have. And in any case, people would bring her down to my level by dating me far more than judge me a bit more favourable. I'm lucky she even gave me the time of day."

"Well what about the paper! How the hell did that even transpire, if it wasn't you?"

"Yes, I'd like to know about that too," Andromeda adds. "It has a blurb about Narcissa at the end, and I wasn't sure if that was the truth or not. That she would leave Lucius."

"She _is, _she's marrying a man named Jean-Pierre Du Pont, and he was from a rich family in France, working as an investor I believe, in Paris. Brace yourselves, it's a long story."

"Joy," Weasel says sarcastically.

"When I got home from winter break you see…." I explain to the table, ignoring the buffoon, with carefully selected details about what's happened in the past crazy week. About finding out about my mother's affair and deal with the Du Pont's, then meeting Granger's parents, admitting my attraction after meeting McGonagall and visiting the Parkinson's, going to Cerisier, and then the whole Marie and Gaston paper fiasco falling out.

"And so we left the Parkinson's feeling victorious, and I feeling I had some kind of closure from Pansy and all the people that are like her. Then I came to see Hermione today feeling awful, but luckily she forgave me, and you've given me a shining opportunity….so here we are presently." I finish the long explanation, feeling winded slightly at talking so much.

"Well, damn," George's girlfriend says, blonde head incredulous.

"What, Verity?" George asks, clutching her hand over the tablecloth. _Verity, _that's her name.

"That seems like way too much to invent, there, Ron. If he's willing to stand up to his snooty acquaintances, and his mother too, I don't think he's just playing a card or an act. That's waaaay too much to go through," she says nodding earnestly. I like this girl.

"Fine, maybe he doesn't, but I won't say that for sure, because Verity, you have _no _idea what you're dealing with, with him." Gee, thanks. "But if you don't have an ulterior motive Malfoy, then _why_ do you like her! Answer what George asked you. And besides because she's pretty and kind," Weasel adds, hoping Hermione will be swayed at his subtle compliment. But she's staring intently at me, instead, causing me to feel hot around the collar.

I'm hoping somebody will tell Weasel that he's out of line for asking me, but I guess I need to squirm under the magnifying glass, because all eyes are still on me.

"Lots of reasons…" I cough, embarrassed. "She's smart and determined, and she doesn't let anybody know if they get under her skin or take anybody's crap, which bothered me quite a bit when I wanted to get a rise out of her," I laugh nervously. "I think to people who don't know her, she's really intimidating, and I was really envious of her."

"You_ were_?" She asks. When I look at her to reassure her, I feel myself getting lost in her beautiful gaze, and I almost forget where I am. I can't tear myself away as I continue speaking, forgetting my nerves.

"Yeah, of course. Every teacher raved about your intelligence, and because you weren't in Slytherin _and _a Muggle-Born, it only infuriated me more plus elevated your threat level. Slughorn even accepted you into his little club and rejected me, which was ironic to me until I snapped out of my blood-related indoctrinated idiocy. I realized after working with you for a few _hours _how wrong I was about you. The very fact you allowed me into your home should've clued me in. You're forgiving and understanding, you listened to me when nobody else would have and I would've deserved it. After everything I've said or done, you've offered to do things for me with nothing In return, because you actually care. You're selfless, and to me that's an admission of trust, because you would do the same for your friends. I find your quirks endearing, like how crazy you get over something so trivial as an essay question, or how heated you are when you argue, when with anybody else, it would probably irritate the hell out of me. The truth is, I can't put a finger or describe why I like you so much, because I don't know. There's just _something _about you. You make me want to be a better person, and I only can hope I get to discover more than I already do so I can one day tell you precisely why, because I know how much you _love_ concrete facts."

I glance around the table, feeling good at my satisfactory response, because Ginny can't help but give a chuckle, along with Fred and Andromeda. When I turn back to Hermione though, her mouth is hanging daintily open, her eyes oddly sad-looking.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny asks, putting a hand on her shoulder as she notices how still her friend is.

"That was one of nicest things anybody has _ever _said about me," she replies clearly, in a low voice.

Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable. "Well, I wouldn't go that far, I mean –"

"No, it _was_, Draco." She slopes her body, inclining it closer to me, and grabs my hand under the table. Then she leans in and grants me a chaste peck on the lips.

My lips are burning as she pulls away, and I wish I could've returned the passionate gesture. But that was the _worst _lapse of common sense that she probably ever had, because the Weasel looks so enraged that he can't physically make any action. His knuckles are white from squeezing them shut. Potter is giving Hermione a stare that reads 'Seriously?', while everyone else is tense, wide eyed.

Weasley stands up dramatically, pushing his chair out and leaving it there, while stomping into the house, slamming the back door.

"_Dammit, Hermione."_ Potter chews out, getting up to go follow him. Ginny darts a look at her boyfriend, and decides she needs to join them.

Next, everyone turns to my lady. "I think maybe I should try to go talk to him, too," she says with a palm to her forehead, looking at me with question in her expression.

"By all means," I reply, unsure if it's a good idea, but I don't know the kid, maybe he just needs a few coaxing words.

"Okay, hopefully we'll be right back."

As soon as she leaves, I feel the tension dissolve somehow. The company I'm left with don't seem particularly judgemental, outside of Mr. Weasley. But it's still immensely _awkward._

"Well, now that the drama has left." George heartily uses his wand to summon all the different varieties of food onto his plate. Mr. Weasley does the same with more grace, probably starving and unhappy that he had to come home from work to this.

We sit without speaking for a few minutes, just the munching in the background.

"Ya know, I don't know how you'll ever get through to him," Verity says, apparently not having a taste for silence or food.

"What do you mean, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks, only nervously taking sips of her wine.

"All summer and fall long, Ron wouldn't shut up about Hermione whenever I was over. About how he didn't know what to do or say, and Ginny was so tired of listening to him. "

"Yes, well, he went and mucked that up, didn't he?" she says quietly. "Poor Ron, he always gets so riled up over that girl."

"He's probably berating himself now internally, you know how inferior he always feels compared to Harry and everyone else, when usually he shouldn't. In this case, though," she raises her eyebrows as if the point is already evident. _Huh?_

"I don't mean to pry, but why would he be berating himself in _this _case?" I ask.

Verity sighs. George looks suddenly grim.

"Because Ron is horrible with words," he says simply, pointing his fork at me. "You just told the girl he loved all the things he should have a long time ago. The one thing he's always been afraid of is talking. He can't make the first move, and Hermione needs somebody who can answer to her. He saw what response he would've received had he not been such an idiot."

"Oh," Deep down I'm very elated, but I mask it by looking sorry for the boy. I'll admit I get a sense of pleasure, knowing I'm more favourable to Hermione than dear Ronald.

"Ron had his chance, I really wished he'd get a move on, if _she_ has. I know she's important to him, and all of us, but there are so many other wonderful girls waiting for him. Aren't there?" She asks worriedly to Mr. Weasley.

"Of course there are, love. Who wouldn't want a shot with him? He's kind, loyal, he massively helped in the take down of Lord Voldemort for Merlin's sake!" He turns to me, very proud yet frowning, almost using it as a comparison to me. I can't help but feel amused for some reason, because I _know _my father would've never been so happy about something I've done.

"_Weasley is our King_," I mutter under my breath, chuckling to myself.

"What?"

"Uh," I clear my throat. "Nothing."

"Do you think they're fighting?" Verity asks George.

"Dunno. Ron's pretty overdramatic, I think it's better to leave him alone."

"I think that's rubbish. If you leave him to his own devices, he's just going to stew over and over. Draco, you have to go up there like a man and apologize face to face, to all of them, for whatever discrepancy you're accused of." This, surprisingly, comes from Andromeda, who is currently feeding Teddy some squash purée.

George looks at her disbelievingly, she obviously not being the type to regularly speak up so boldly.

"Well…I don't think he'd believe me, though," I counter.

"I _wouldn't," _Mr Weasley says.

"Well, you've got to try haven't you?" Andromeda says, shaking her head at Mr. Weasley ."Make him see whatever it is _you_ see as a reason to try and forgive you." She's looking at me, and I realize she really _hopes _that there is some good in me, maybe because I'm her sister's son, maybe because she wants Weasley to be wrong about me.

A mad idea pops into my head suddenly. I shake it away, but it sticks in the back of my skull.

I don't know if it would work. Would I have the nerve to do it? It's not just Hermione I have on the line here, it's the one opportunity to really show the only people who really matter, my biggest offenders, why I did what I did, and why I am who I am today.

The only person anyone will believe outside these walls is Potter. His word will always triumph over mine. Maybe if I can _somehow _get him to hear me out (god forbid) he can sway the Weasel.

"I think you're right. Excuse me." I push myself away from the table and walk back inside, listening for sounds of speech. I stop at the wonky staircase, and look up to see the light on in one of the cracks of the doors.

I can't believe I'm going to apologize to _Weasley. _  
Nott will never let me hear the end of it if he finds out. In fact…If anyone sees me buddy buddy with the Potter crew, they'll think I've gone soft.

Damn.

But, motivations in mind, an hour of snogging and clean slate, I gather my nerves and amble slowly up the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible, listening.

I tiptoe to the door, which turns out to be slightly ajar.

"Ron, I _never_ wanted to hurt you, but I _told _you how I felt up front at the start of this year, and you just…why are you still holding on?"

I freeze against the wall, _very _glad I did not barge in this moment. Certainly I would've been swallowed and spitted out by Hermione and Potter for interrupting the Sad Love Life of Ron Weasley.

"I dunno! Because I _like_ you? I mean, I _love you…"_

"And I love you too, Ron." My heart drops into my stomach for a split second. "But not romantically. We're just not that compatible, as I said, we're way better friends than we ever were as a couple."

Oh, Thank Merlin.

"B-but…."

"Look, I'm not saying I'm ruling you out forever, who knows what's going to happen from now til, til graduation, say? Right now, you need to realise that you're being irrational and _clingy. _I don't want to date you. I'm seeing…well you know who, and I _know _that there are plenty of girls who want you. If we see other people, it'll give us both a clear vision of what we want. We haven't had proper relationships, have we?"

I can hear little breaths from Weasley, evidently upset "I don't want you to date him," he says quietly, in perhaps the most sane voice all night.

"I know you don't trust him. I don't yet, either." Oh. _Ouch._

"Then why are you-?"

"Because that's what you _do _when you date! You find out how the other person is, don't you? Look Ron, you were right when you said I'm far too calculated. I need to just…jump in sometimes."

"Okay, that's great but why couldn't that have been with me? Or with _anyone _else besides _Malfoy_?" he cries in an anguished tone.

"I don't know, Ron. Things are unexpected in life, aren't they? I just want you to let me go…for you to explore your options too, so we can both start being happy." There's a pause, and a shuffling. I _hope _that's just a hug.

"I won't be happy until I know you're safe around him…and that might be never. Look even if you want me to stop chasing you, I'm still going to be your friend. I'm still going to protect you like Harry."

"Well, try to get to know him at least. _Please? _For me? I promise you that if he does anything horrible I'll cut him off right away." God dammit.

Huffs and puffs from the _poor _Weasley. "Alright, alright, _fine. _But don't be surprised if this doesn't end well, I don't need to know him, he's a bloody – mmph."

_What_? What just happened? I dare to take a step and peek in the room, carefully holding the door, hoping to god Hermione didn't kiss him out of happiness or something, who knows what regular people do to show affection to their-

"What the hell are you _doing?"_

I spin around to face _Potter_, who has just emerged from the room across the hall with a messed up looking Ginny. _Gross._

"I uh-"  
Fuck. I thought they were all in the room together.

"Were you _eavesdropping?_ After all that crap you explained downstairs, I would've thought you were sick of people listening in, _Malfoy._"Oh damn, he means business, he's got the rage face.

"_What's going on?"_

Suddenly my worst nightmare unravels before my eyes, and Hermione comes out with her arm round Weasley's back. I'm now circled in by the Gryffindor's.

"D_raco_ here was listening in on your private conversation."

"_What?" _Hermione looks infuriated, while Weasel outright devilish.

"I didn't mean to! I was coming up here to try and _apologize, _but when I got to the door you were in the middle of saying something, er, intimate, so I didn't want to exactly jump in!"

"Yeah _right_ you slimeball_. _Why would you apologize for Hermione kissing _you? _How would you think coming up to calm me down would _work? _I just agreed to try and be nice to you, and this is the first thing you try and pull? Snooping around? What, do you want the intimate details of the Weasley family too, so you can tell the press about how 'weird' and 'filthy' we are?_" _Weasley comes right up to me, full stature, scarlet with anger.

"No!" God, what an arseface.

"Then _what?" _I get no opportunity to reply, however, as a fist comes flying into my nostril a second later.

White lights flash before my eyes, and I find myself a minute later on the ground in a pool of my own blood, with one of the most excruciating pains I've felt in a while.

"_You bastard,_ you broke it,_" _I spit, touching my now deformed cartilage and bone, trying to rid my mouth of the coppery taste.

"Oh, _Draco._ God, are you alright?" Hermione asks naively, bending down to me, touching my face in an apparent attempt to mend my nose that way.

"He deserved it," Weasel mutters.

"For _what?" _I cry, waves of pain splitting my head, making it ache.

"For everything," he says simply.

"_What?"_

"Look, you let this go, consider it payback for all the shit you've said or schemed, and I'll be more inclined to get over the fact that one of the people I'm most close to decided to see you."

"I- _what?"_ What the hell? I must be delirious, because I accept his conditions. "Okay, alright, fine. But next time you injure me, I'm going to hit you back."

"Can I get one in too?" Potter asks. "What about you, Ginny?"

Ginny looks torn between siding with her boyfriend or friend, at least verbally.

"Harry, _stop. _He's bleeding everywhere," Hermione says, taking out her wand. "Want me to fix it for you?"

"If you must," I reply, sitting up fully.

"Okay hold still." She grabs my chin to steady my face. She points the tip of her wand at me. "_Episkie."_

A loud crack resonates in my ears, causing me to jump, and I feel pain then an odd pleasure afterwards.

"_Ahh," _I shudder all over. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you ok?" Hermione grabs my hand and strokes it, causing Weasley to make a gagging noise; so she changes the original gesture by helping me stand up, then letting me go.

"Not really." I rub my nose, praising Salazar Slytherin there are no deviated septum or bumps in the curvature of my nose.

"You're lucky we haven't done worse, frankly," Potter replies, arms crossed.

"I suppose. This whole situation _is _surreal, after all," I concede.

"You can say that again," Ginny agrees, "I'm not killing you, am I? Last year, I probably would've hexed you by now."

Her attempt to lighten the mood doesn't exactly work for me, and I give a half-hearted chuckle. Nobody else does, though, creating another pregnant pause.

"Um, so you said you wanted to apologize, Draco?" Hermione says.

Fuck _me, _not anymore.

I sigh, then look at the floor grumbling. "Yes. I was coming up to ask what it would take for Weasley to give me a chance. And Potter. I was _not _snooping, I was waiting for a moment to knock."

"Well FYI, next time just _do _it, instead of waiting around like you're up to something. And as for giving you a chance, I agreed on Hermione's part to give you one, so I will," Weasley says, glaring at me. "I'll be watching your every move when I can, and like I said before, hurt her and you're dead. Consider yourself warned."

_What? _No strings?  
A death threat was expected, but I don't even have to say sorry? Maybe he feels subconsciously guilty he roughed me up.

God though, he must really love Hermione to do something like this…how will I ever live up to that?

"But _since _you asked," Potter chimes in, and I groan. "For me, anyways, I would know you're really trying here, if you go downstairs and admit, to everyone, everything you've done to us, and to them. Then _apologize_ for it. All of it."

He looks at me defiantly, awaiting my response. I don't have a choice but to say yes, Potter is the only person who will tell people to back off at school , _in public_, because…..because he's _not _an asshole.

I hate that.

"Alright. I guess that's what I came for, isn't it. If that's what it's going to take…well let's do it then."

He looks at me in incredulity, "_Really?"_

"Potter, how many times does a person have to tell you they want to change before you get it through your thick skull?"

"Talking to me in such a way is really convincing me quickly, Malfoy," he replies sarcastically, and I can't help smirking.

"Look, I was serious, okay. I really like your friend over here, and I know I haven't been a very good person. I think you should appreciate the fact that I can even admit it."

"Maybe I should, but any normal person would have." This is _not _going to be easy.

"Fair enough. Shall we?" I ask impatiently, waving out my hand to the stairs, realizing I'm still covered in copious amounts of blood. This shirt will not be salvaged.

I just want to get this over with, fuck. This isn't even Granger's family and yet we get to present the Malfoy Inquisition, which I'm sure will go down in history for centuries just as much as my Mother divorcing her jail-ridden husband.

Hermione is looking at me with her famous look; as if I'm an exam question she's trying to solve.

Everyone else stats making their ways to the dinner table again. When they get down the stairs halfway, I turn to Hermione and grimace in agony, then smirk again to (falsely) show her I'm going to survive, but I do _not _like this situation one bit. She grabs my elbows and pulls me closer.

"_God, I'm _so _sorry. Thank you so much for being civil. I just, they mean a lot to me, Draco, and I know once you get to know them, you'll agree. I can't believe you're going to do this. It's very…brave of you."_ Hermione whispers to me so the others don't have a chance of hearing, and leans in to kiss me on the mouth, more lively than at the table.

"Just make sure you remember that if I ever mess up," I reply when I pull away, and lean in for another quick smooch before rotating towards the steps.

I put on my charming face, feeling more courageous than I am, determined to succeed (for once) as I rejoin the outside.

"_Gasp, _why is he covered in blood?" Mrs. Weasley asks horrified. The Weasel looks a bit guilt-ridden, while I choose to say nothing. If I snitch, I'll never hear the end of it, and truthfully I hope he fesses up and gets berated. I know from that Howler he got, that this woman means business.

"Er –"

I sit down, trying with _massive _difficulty not to smile and wait for my signal to do my bit.

"What happened?" she asks firmly, looking at Weasel. _Justice._

"Ron punched him in the nose. Hermione fixed it, so I think he'll live."

"For fuck's sake, Ginny!" Weasel yells.

"You _punched _him? I do _not_ advocate such violent behaviour from such a nice boy, Ronald Weasley! And don't you dare swear in front of me again!"

"Well, Molly, he didn't ask the most important thing; did he deserve it?" Mr Weasley asks, wherein George laughs uncontrollably.

"_For Merlin's sake, Arthur._ What do you have to say for yourself? What warranted such a thing in my house?"

In a move I know will score me brownie points with my golden girl, I decide it's time to smooth things over for the buffoon. He'd better appreciate it.

"If I might, I probably _did _deserve it." Weasel looks abashed from his mother to me, his expression changing to one of confusion.

"What?" She looks at me oddly, considering she's never spoken to me directly I guess she doesn't know what to say.

"Look….er, Ron over here," Ew, no. "Okay, that doesn't sound right. Weasley has brought to my attention the reason I'm here, to apologize, and I haven't yet."

Nobody says anything, so I stand up, and continue.

"Potter would like me to individually apologize to you all, and, _ahem _explain why, so here it goes."

"This is gonna be good."

"George, I'm sorry, but _please _shut up," Hermione says exasperatedly. George purses his lips and giggles airily, and Potter can't seem to stifle a little grin.

"Sorry, sorry, go on," he says.

"Okay. Well I'll start with you, Andromeda," I look to her, and she's suddenly pink.

"You don't need to, Draco, honestly."

"No, I do. Look, uh, I am very sorry for not having met you for my whole life, and for not trying to myself, when I very well could have written you, _something. _Even if my parents were jerks, it's not only their fault that we haven't seen each don't know about my mother, maybe she'll change her mind when I tell her about tonight, but I wouldn't mind, you know…coming to visit, unless that made you uncomfortable." She looks as if she's about to burst into joyful tears.

"No, no, not at all. I know Teddy would love to have a blood-related family member in his life so he doesn't feel so…alienated when he's older. Not to say that you all haven't been amazing, especially you, Harry," she corrects herself. Potter merely nods, wrinkling his forehead.

"Okay, great." One down. "Um, er, Verity?"

"Yes dear?" she replies amused, tilting her head sideways.

"I don't know you, so, I guess I can only offer a sorry if the word 'Malfoy' ever offended you in your life."

"Apology accepted."

"Thank you."

"Look you got a thank you from Mr Blonde Britches himself, you should cherish this forever," George says. Hermione sighs, and Potter gives a small snort.

I ignore it, hoping to treat the Weasley's as a unit.

"George," I point, and he returns his attention back to me. "Actually, all the Weasley family." They all turn to me and look expectantly awkward.

"Mr Weasley, first, I'm sorry on behalf of my father for him being such a complete dick to you over the years, I hope that his jail time alleviates your anger." George claps his hands applauding until Verity slaps him.

"George, come on now. It does make me feel a bit better. You know, I made a testimony about him in the trial, if you remember." Oh god, that's right. "And I don't regret it or feel bad, but I do hope that you don't take it personally because I feel he got what was coming to him."

"Yes, well, he's my father, I have to defend him a little bit, but he certainly did deserve punishment."

"Good, I also accept your apology."

"Thank you, but I wasn't finished. Mrs. Weasley, I got your son expelled from Quidditch, and I made a comment about you that was derogatory, so I apologize for that, I didn't actually mean it, it was meant to hurt." She says nothing, shrinking in her seat. "In fact, I made a lot of horrible comments about all of you. I apologize collectively for that, for raising myself above all of you in my mind, when really I was barely scraping the bottom of the barrel. George, I'm sorry I got you expelled from Quidditch by making insults about your family. Ginny, I can't apologize on behalf of my father again, but…." Ginny suddenly looks very uncomfortable, and Potter makes the choking, cut it out, sign with his hand. "You know what I want to apologize for, I hope. I didn't know about what happened until later, but it was directed towards you, Mr Weasley, so I guess there's another one for you."

Mr Weasley frowns, then looks attentively to Ginny, who just nods that she's fine, looking down at the table.

"Uh, what else? Oh, I'm sorry for insulting you at the Quidditch World Cup. And…I don't know if I should say what else as a whole."

"Go ahead," George beckons, liking me under the microscope. But no.

"No, really…" I struggle with this one, because it's going to hurt. A lot.

"Just spit it out," Weasel says, evidently not liking me having so much attention.

"I- I can't. Not yet." Weasel rolls his eyes.

"Whatever, go on."

"Alright. To you, Weasley, I apologize first and foremost for insulting your wealth and blood constantly. I took what my father handed to me, and what he handed to me was nothing nice. Weasley is Our King was a horrible thing to write, I won't go any further on that, I guess." I clear my throat to no response yet.

This is painful. What I'm about to say.

"I want….I want to apologize for accidentally uh, poisoning you." Mrs. Weasley gasps. I am a terrible person. "Thank you for saving me _twice, _as you pointed out, during the battle. And I want to admit to you something I've never been able to before now." Weasel looks at me finally, in the eyes; he's curious. Oh god, this is so embarrassing. "I've been jealous of you throughout the entirety of going to Hogwarts."

"What?" That's from Weasel.

"_What?" _From Potter.

"What!" And from Ginny.

"The first day of school you laughed at me. I held it over your head, not just because I was told that your family sucked, but because you were already friends with Potter. And I confess, even though my father wanted me to make nice with a 'celebrity', I wanted to be your friend, Potter."

"Uh….." Potter doesn't know what to say and Weasel is stunned.

"My hatred was jealousy, I already told you. I craved the spotlight you always had on you. You both mocked me on the first day of school and I responded with vengeance the only thing I knew how to do effectively with words. I watched my father do it for years. And then it turns out you really aren't full of yourself."

"What?" Potter really is at a loss.

"I read your stupid biography, hoping at a last attempt at justifying myself. But you saved my life, and I now can't hold that as an angry failure on my part, but a testimony as to how not arrogant you are."

Potter's eyes bulge from his sockets.

"Y-you read that?" he turns red.

"I did. And as much as I probably should apologize to you most of all, I have a sudden thought…but, it's a bit drastic." The notion from earlier tonight unsticks itself from the back of my skull and zooms into my frontal lobe.

"Drastic is always the best measure," George chimes.

"I don't know in this case."

"Well, what is it?" Potter demands of me.

"Earlier, for some odd reason I was thinking about your book, and about the chapter when you describe how you went from loathing Professor Snape to realizing how crazily brave he was." Potter stiffens suddenly. "And it was because of his memories. And I thought…maybe if I did the same, maybe you all would understand where I'm coming from. But I don't know if you'd be interested, or think it's too out of line to suggest it."

"I would like to see it," Hermione says next to me, quietly.

"A trip inside Malfoy's _mind_?" Weasel says aloud. "I don't know about _that_."

"What would that achieve, exactly?" Potter is looking at me intently.

"Well, maybe nothing. But if you saw what I've been through then you can judge me once and for all for what I've been and not what I've tried to make myself look like. Like you did with your book."

"If I were to agree," he starts carefully, "where would we get a pensieve first of all. And what kinds of memories would you show me, or us?"

"I don't know if I want you all going to do this," Mr Weasley cuts in, in front of me.

"It's not your choice to make, dear," Mrs. Weasley counters as low as Hermione.

"Well, if it's dangerous – I"

"I promise you it's not," I cut in.

"Yeah, I've done it before….with Tom Riddle's memories, remember?" Potter explains. "And Snape's. You just watch what happens, it doesn't affect you at all."

Mr Weasley grunts, unwaivering but allowing us to finish.

"They'd be memories that haunt me, define who I am now, I suppose."

"I'm in, if you permit me," Ginny says suddenly. "I want to see them."

"I'm good with what I've gotten," George says, putting his hands up.

"I don't need another sorry, but yes, I'd like to see them as well," Hermione agrees with Ginny.

"If you finish your apologies I'll think about it," Potter says, still narrowing his eyes.

"Okay, you're the last one. There're so many to list, I'll try to make it short. In regards to school, sorry for making your life hell, simply. Sorry for breaking your nose, for insulting your parents, and making you fall off your broom in third year. I'm sorry for getting Hagrid sacked, and Hermione, I know you can't forgive me, but I'm _so _sorry about that hippogriff, because I knew when you slapped me how incensed you were about the whole thing. Thank you, Potter, for saving my life as well in the battle, and most importantly; I'm sorry about…about Dumbledore. I know he meant a lot to you, and I knew I couldn't do it, but I wish I had the guts to just take the risk of getting help instead of fucking up the whole year. I just didn't want him to kill me. Or my mother. And it's not a good excuse, but there you have it."

"What was that one thing you didn't want to say?" Potter asks, not showing his gratitude for me admitting all that.

"The last thing I want to say, that I don't really want to say is…." I gulp heavily, my collar feeling hot. "Was about my Aunt Bellatrix."

The air in the room changes from moderately tension-filled to charged. Hermione looks at me with tears in her eyes, and exhale a shaky breath, I hate myself for what I'm about to do.

"And- and what about her?" He asks, sad angry eyes on me.

"I – I wish she wasn't related to me," I say, hoping nobody asks me to elaborate.

"Why?"

Fuck.

"B-because…because of what she did. Because of _who _she hurt…..or killed."

There's very audibly a catch in someone's throat; George. For the first time tonight he looks wounded.

"Please don't make me say who. I'm just…..I feel horrible for ever having fought on a side with somebody as truly deranged as she, and I have no vindication as to why I would have."

The room is silent, even Teddy knows something is wrong.

"I'm sorry for everything," I finish.

I want to sit down, to feel less exposed, but I'm really empty, I don't feel good about my confessions.

I feel too evil to be seated with everyone here now, so I excuse myself and instead of going back inside, I walk around to the front of the house again, to sit on the stone step, looking at the stars in the chilly air. I feel my eyes grow wet, but I don't know if it's from sadness or shame, or something else indiscernible.

After a few minutes, I hear the door creak open, and out walks Hermione, Potter, Weasley and Ginny.

They all say nothing, looming over me, until Potter speaks up.

"We want to see your memories, Malfoy," he says surprisingly gently. "But we don't know how we're going to do that."

I clear my throat of the buildup I've accumulated to try and stop myself from weeping.

"I have a pensieve at my house," I say groggily. "My father used to keep all his memories in there. If you permit me to go get it, I can come back here."

"Only if you want to, Draco. I mean –" Hermione tries to be on my side, unsure of what to say, but I have to do this.

"Hermione….I need to do this. I just…I need _somebody _to understand."

"Okay," she says breathlessly.

"Well, I'll go right now. I can get out of these clothes too, so…" I stand up slowly, checking to make sure my wand is in my pocket.

"Don't you want your jacket?" Ginny asks uneasily.

"No….no, I'll be okay. See you soon." I give them a nod, and they look at each other nervously, probably thinking I'm crazy.

I leave to silence, walking quickly up the hill in the chilly air. But I can't feel the cool.

The truth is that after admitting everything, all the events and memories of the crimes and atrocities I've committed are swirling around in my mind. Tomorrow, I'll probably smack myself on the head for doing as Potter wanted. Maybe in a week I'll come to the conclusion this was a good idea.

Right now I'm only numb, the only emotion that will probably enable me to get through showing my past enemies all my darkest times, all my most vulnerable moments.

But if it can work for Snape, it can work for me.

I reach the forest, and disappear into the darkness.


	36. Into The Rabbit Hole

**Man, I've been writing this all night, from 10 PM – 9 am. I was having a LOST marathon, it's so weird because I'm writing flashbacks of Draco so all I can think about is the ones in LOST, for those who like the show you'll know haha.**

**Anyways, This is by and far the longest chapter I have, so I think it's time for something special.**

**I am not one for dedications, but seriously, there are a few of you lovely readers who **_**always **_**take the time to comment and have given me the drive to keep going when I've been down about writing. Without you, I probably wouldn't be still coming up with ideas for this.**

**And so I dedicate this 16,000 word chapter to my golden girls and guys;**

BrightestWitchOfHerAge16  
LittleMissHugALot  
OBLuvr13  
HermionenDraco368  
Eryk Lestrange

**You all comment or commented from the very beginning and some of you up til now, and for that I thank you. ****Now on to the story.**

* * *

_**I never thought the day would come, to say sorry for the things I've done,  
I know the list is long but that's all on me.  
I can't really find the words, to make up to the ones I've hurt,  
But I hope they see this side of me.**_

_**I swear that I've been waiting, I've been waiting, to say:**_

_**Oh jealousy, look what you've done,**_  
_**You got a hold of me, you made me become,**_  
_**What I'd never be, look what you've done; Oh jealousy, look what you've done.**_

_**- J**_**_ealousy_, Good Charlotte**

* * *

"Did that really just happen?"

Everyone is completely at a loss of what to do or say right now, shocked and awed from what Draco had to say mere minutes ago; what his impending return is going to bring us.

We're all sitting inside at the kitchen table, Harry, Ron, Ginny and I, anxiously awaiting his arrival. But I think we're all dreading it too. I certainly have a great desire to see what has gone on inside his head, but I'm afraid of what I'll see, maybe I'll decide I hate him afterwards. And I don't want to.

Yet he's choosing to show us his memories, he came up with the idea. I thought that he was laying it on a bit thick about how much he yearned for change, but I know now this isn't a bluff, a game. He must really be hurting. He's seeking redemption in any form he can.

"I have no idea; maybe we're in a dream. Pinch me." Harry squeezes Ginny's flesh to get an answer to his question. "_Ow. _Kay, nope."

Ron sighs heavily, head in hands.

"I don't think I want to do this."

When Draco left the table, we managed to convince Mr and Mrs Weasley that we were going to go through with this. Despite Arthur's misgivings about the whole ordeal, once both Harry and I explained the process of entering a pensieve, how it doesn't do any physical damage, he reluctantly gave in. I don't think Molly wants us to see the inside of the warped Malfoy heir brain either, but she's probably tense enough already with having to deal with a feud she has no part in.

Ron only agreed, I know, so he could hope for something he could blackmail Draco with. Ginny likes to be in on everything, she is probably as curious as I am. Harry probably wants to hear his side now because Draco hit a note with him in saying that he changed his perspective on Snape in a manner of minutes. Harry has a heart of gold underneath, but when he's angry at someone, he usually stays that way.

Perhaps all of them did it to appease me. Regardless of what Draco thinks, they _are, _at the end of the night, good friends. And I know, even though they hurt me yesterday, that they did all this because they don't want me to feel any pain.

"You don't have to do it, you idiot," Ginny replies exasperatedly.

"Yes I do. This is a grotesque once in a lifetime event. Doesn't mean I want inside the sick mind of Draco Malfoy," he spits.

"You know you do, Ron, you just _hate _the thought that you might view something in that white goo that makes you feel a little bad for the ferret." We four turn our heads to face George, who spoke in a light tone, but looks as if he's just cried a river.

"I will _never_ feel bad for him."

"You might," Verity chimes in from behind George, patting her boyfriend's arm soothingly. "He needs a friend by the looks of it. I mean, no offense Hermione, but – _the kid seems pretty fucked up_," she whispers.

"Well, he certainly has been through just as much as we have," I try, figuring arguing is pointless.

"Mm."

The back door slides open again, and inside Andromeda brings in a Teddy, almost dozing in her arms, along with Arthur and Molly.

"Where's Draco?" Andromeda asks, looking a little worried.

"He's gone to get a pensieve. Apparently his family's got one," Ginny replies.

"Ran away, has he?" Arthur butts in, shaking his head as he reaches the table.

"Dad, please. I'm not his biggest fan or anything, but he had the guts to come here. He did not act how we expected of him, and actually apologized. I think that warrants him a little slack?"

Seriously, sometimes I wish I could marry Ginny.

"That _is_ true, I suppose," he grunts regretfully, placing some empty dishes into the sink.

"Doesn't mean we should all of a sudden love him to bits," Ron refutes. "Seeing him helpless among people he's betrayed didn't make me feel sympathetic, it made me angry. If he regrets it so much, why did he do it initially?"

"Exactly," Arthur pipes up, coming towards us to join everyone at the table. Andromeda goes to sit on the couch in the fireplace room, coaxing Teddy to slumber, and easing her own mind from the argument.

"I never said that I love him or even like him," Ginny huffs. "Mum, what do you think?"  
Molly looks like a deer in headlights as she packages the remainder of the roast in a tin.

"Well, I – Well, you both have a point. Certainly, I'm still wary of him, it's just that Hermione likes him and…well, I don't know ."

"Arthur," I begin, knowing Molly doesn't want to intervene in her husbands strong feelings, "try to see it from Draco's perspective. Think about how much you hate Lucius Malfoy, and then… imagine him as your _dad. _Draco's had this father figure for his entire life that not only tries to control what he does and who he talks to, but constantly berates him for what he isn't rather than what he's achieved. His mother agreed enough in those twisted beliefs, maybe too caught up in love, maybe growing up exactly the same as Draco, to go along with whatever Lucius did to save themselves until everything became disgustingly real. I imagine that they never thought Voldemort would come back, and considered themselves lucky they escaped. Draco has been horrible to us, and I know it. I'm not trying to pretend he hasn't. But he's also had it really rough too, and it is not his fault his family decided to be involved in that kind of business before he was old enough to understand what it meant."

Harry is just aching to say something, but he lets Arthur go first.  
"I see your point, Hermione, but remember that he had the _choice _to become a bully. Even if he thought he was higher than everyone else, he could have kept his mouth shut. I agree that being in Slytherin comes with the bias from everyone around you, yet he certainly acted, from what I hear, the way that fits the stereotype. Lucius was the same at school, and as much as I can attest to the fact that upbringing definitely shapes you, Draco _liked _what he saw in his father up until recently. He liked manipulation and controlling people, and you have to admit that it's a difficult thing to convince people now that he's different."

"I suppose," I say, unable to come up with a solid argument. Maybe I've put on the rose glasses a bit in hanging around Draco. I just find him so…interesting. Now that he treats me like an equal.

God, he's going to be the death of me.

I sigh, looking to my friend across the table. "What is it Harry, you can't stop shifting."

"Look I know you're going to roll your eyes at me, but as Mr Weasley said, he had the option not to be so vile_. _We're no saints, I know we took revenge when we could, but he's done much worse. And that is what's keeping me from trying to see your way. Remember what Dumbledore said? Our choices make us who we are more than our abilities. And he, admittedly, is not that stupid. So when he decided to be a big man and chew more than he can swallow because his father fucked up, sorry Mrs. Weasley," he says when she clicks her tongue. "It was all on him to blame. He should've realized it was time to escape. Sirius,"

"Harry, I know-"

"No. Sirius came from the _same _kind of family. Exactly the same. And he realized soon enough that these are not good people to be around, and decided that he should get out."

"Yes, but Sirius was different. He was put in Gryffindor, he had a greater heart to begin with, he was _braver _than most people. But Regulus was brave too in the end, wasn't he? He realized that he was wrong, like Draco has done, and now he's changing his mind and actions, even if it is a little late. Consider that Draco loves his parents, and Sirius didn't. That's a big distinction you're forgetting to factor in. If he hated them, maybe he could've given it up, but it seems like he loves them so much he wanted to protect them, right? Wouldn't you have done the same?"

At my words, nobody responds, thinking thoughtfully at what I said. I've been toiling over Draco's past for a long time now, since I realized I found him attractive, and to me, what he did was _human. _Wrong, but would I have risked the chance of my parents getting killed to get help from the enemy? I did everything I could to save them, didn't I, what would I have done if they couldn't go away? I know I'm brave, but am I _that _brave?

"I don't know, Hermione, I guess I just know that in the end what I would do would be for the greater good of everyone, not just a select few. I appreciate him apologizing, trust me when I say I really do, I'm just trying to explain to you why you have to give us a while to accept him, if at all."

I sigh again. "Alright. Just take it from him, not me," I reply stubbornly.

Harry shakes his head at me, and Ron says nothing, frowning into distant space.

"Sorry to cut in, but I think we're going to take off," George says awkwardly, leaning in to the table. "Got to be up early for tomorrow; got a business meeting, yadda yadda."

"Okay George, well thank you for coming, love."

"Wouldn't have missed it, mum. Dad." He wraps his arms around Arthur's shoulders briefly and then walks to Molly.

"Verity, it was nice seeing you again, too." Verity thanks Molly and leans in for a kiss and hug. While George is giving her his affection, Verity turns to us.

"I'm really sorry if this is inappropriate a bit out of the left field, but a few days ago, George got a 'special' invitation to an opening of a club friday night. It's been in the news a lot, actually, in the entertainment section; Dragonblood. Since they know George is friends with you three," she points to Harry, Ron and I, "the owner told us to bring as many 'hype people' as possible, whatever that means. Now you're all of age, so I thought maybe if you wanted something to take a load off, it would be dancing and a shot or two," she winks. "If you're interested? We could go dress shopping tomorrow if you're not busy? Maybe the boys can come?"

_A club?_

_Dress shopping?_

"Ahm, I'm not sure if that's such a good idea," I reply, bewildered.

That _is_ out of the left field. Draco definitely would not want to go.

"Yes, I agree, Verity. Though I appreciate the kindness extended, these kids have a tendency to get into trouble," Arthur states, raising his eyebrows. "I don't think any of these ones have been to a 'club`, and I'm sure Molly and I are a bit skeptical about what kind of reputation going there would build for them."

"_Dragonblood?" _Molly whispers uneasily.

"Well, _I'd_ love to go dress shopping! May not be able to buy anything, but, whatever. _I _think it all sounds like fun. Don't you, Harry?" Ginny looks to her boyfriend, who shrugs.

"I can't dance to save my life, Gin."

"Yeah, and I'd be going stag, dateless while no doubt these two would end up making a gross display of themselves and Hermione would be moping over the absence of the great ferret."

"Draco would be _coming_, Ron," Verity says like he's daft, while George puts an arm around her. "And if you're that upset over going to a hot new club filled with tons of beautiful single girls, I can set you up with one of my friends."

George splutters. "_Your _friends? With _Ron?"_ He tries to stifle laughter but let's out a tiny guffaw.

"Hey! I resent that."

"No offense, little brother, but Verity's friends are just as stunning as she is." Verity blushes, smiling. "You can barely speak around Fleur, and she's your sister-in-law now. You aren't exactly, shall we say, smooth?"

Ron glowers at George, but concedes and drops his head onto his crossed arms placed on the tabletop.

"Whatever, I don't want to go on a date, anyways."

"Oh come now, it'll be a blast! George, you can buy your sister a dress, can't you?" George nods silently, perhaps embarrassed by his wealth, but nods. "And I promise, Arthur, Molly, that I will act as the designated 'caregiver' so to speak, and ensure they don't have _too _much fun. If it ends up getting too crazy, they can come to our place. What do you say?"

Molly is afraid to speak. She definitely wants to forbid it.

"Well where is it?" Arthur demands of George's girl. "Is it a good idea to bring Draco Malfoy with you lot? Don't you think it'll start a semi-riot?"

You know, Verity does seem like a very bubbly person, very likeable. I've only met her a few times but she's always so friendly. I confess that it does sound a little fun. I've never experienced that environment before.

But Arthur is right. Bringing Draco and Ron in the proximity of alcohol seems a foolish thought, even if I stay sober and watch them. And I'd feel bad if I went without Draco, considering he asked me to go steady basically an hour ago.

"It's in Diagon Alley, where Knockturn Alley used to be. Now that all of those old shops have been boarded up and kicked out, they're renovating. I think they're attempting to attract more people by offering more than just shops."

"Hmm," Arthur ponders.

"Draco doesn't have to come, but I think in light of what has happened in the past year, it's not a bad idea to open our minds a bit to somebody willing to apologize. I also have no issue with him from the past, so you can call me on that too, but honestly, it'll make Hermione happier I'm sure."

"Please dad?" Ginny asks, putting her hand on his, and probably making a facial expression reminiscent of Molly's puppy eyes. "We promise not to get too rowdy. If it's a new club, lots of people to note will likely be there, not just Harry."

Arthur exhales deeply, looks to Molly who gives him a wan smile to give him the ultimatum, and then back to Ginny.

"Alright," he mumbles. "But no more than 2 drinks. And if I hear anything has happened, you're not allowed to go out again. _The things I agree to._"

"Yay!" Ginny claps, ignoring his restrictions. "We're going to go dannnciiinnnnng!"

"Great," Harry says sarcastically, and George laughs.

"Oh come on, now Harry, it'll be fun! I heard some players from the Wimbourne Wasp's Quidditch team were going to show up."

"Really?" Harry asks, now intrigued.

"They suck, though," Ron argues.

"That's what the owner said, he comes round often. I also heard a rumour that Galvin Gudgeon might make an appearance," George says casually.

"WHAT! The seeker of the Chudley Cannons?" Ron practically leaps out of his seat in amazement.

"Well I think we've got this one convinced. Hermione?" Verity turns to me, laughing.

I'm too wrapped up in this present situation to really care about tomorrow.

"I'll go, of course. I'm not sure about Draco though. He may feel uncomfortable about people talking about him negatively behind his back."

"I am _not _going suit shopping by the way," Ron interrupts.

"Same," Harry agrees.

"Oh bollocks, he'll have a grand old time," Verity disregards the boys. "Assuming you don't hate him after this pensieve ordeal goes down, just _come!"_

The thought of the pensieve grates something deep in my stomach.

"We will," Ginny says happily.

"Good. Must be off now, I suppose. Bye everyone!" George says, waving to us, and opening the front door.

"Meet me tomorrow at say 3 PM? Ginny, Hermione? At the store. We can go to a few shops, kay?" Verity puts on her pink wool coat and waves.

"Sounds wonderful," I say deadpan. Ginny squees.

"And drag Draco with you if you'd like." George salutes us before opening the door. "Here he comes by the way, Hermione. See you later all!"

George and Verity leave the house, and there is a distinct crunch of footsteps coming from the left open entrance.  
I can hear George say too loudly, "_Dodged a bullet there," _as his voice carries away into the night.

"So….should be a good time right?" Ginny prods me in the silence.

"I guess," I answer, concentrated on what's about to happen in here.

I watch the door like a hawk, until Andromeda breaks the emptiness by rejoining the group and gently inquiring, "Would you three mind if I looked at the memories too?"

My eyes snap to her, but nobody answers.

"It's okay if you don't want me too, I don't know if it would be too- _Oh_, hi Draco."

A disgruntled looking Draco lumps into the house, holding a round disc filled with luminescent goo, and a vial filled with white. He does not look pleased.

The room's atmosphere changes from apprehensively eager to fearful as we wait for our guest to speak.

"You can look at the memories, Andromeda. If it'll ease your thoughts about me," he says with no warmness in his tone. He sets the pensieve on the table, and pops the cork on the vial.

Andromeda blushes, embarrassed he heard her.

"Was your mother okay with you borrowing it, Draco?" I ask, unable to sound like I'm not speaking to a child.

"_Ha_, she doesn't even know. Too busy in the bedroom with Jean," he says a bit scornfully. Huh, guess he only likes her fiancée when he's helping his mother emotionally, though I'd wager that having sex…no, I won't go there.

"Erm, so how exactly do we do this?" Ginny asks directly to Draco, who blinks as if she's stupid then grimaces, apparently very wary.

"You just stick your head in, Gin. You feel like you're falling for a split moment, almost like when you use a portkey. It's odd to view the memories at first, because you have the freedom to move around. But we just have to trail Draco in whatever's he's doing. I guess if five of us are going, we'll have to dip our foreheads in," Harry explains.

Draco places the stone basin at the head of the kitchen table, wherein it lights up; when Draco pours the vial in, the contents swirl around in circles.

"What he said," Draco nods, placing the empty vial in his pocket. "It's ready when you are. Actually, if Andromeda is going, I should probably add something more." He slides his wand from his trousers, and takes the tip to his temple.

He draws a thin silver mist out of nowhere, like he's extracting a vein or tapeworm. It's the eeriest thing. I've read all about how pensieve's work, but I've never seen it in action.

He drags it to the pool of airy liquid, and taps it in.

"There….it's all yours."

He takes a step back to survey us all, looking very grim indeed.

"How long will it take?" I ask lightly.

"Probably only 5 minutes out here. I'm not sure how long for you. I tried to keep it short."

"Do you mean…you put all the memories in just now?" I ask incredulous.

"Well…yeah." Harry and I exchange glances, and he looks at his enemy in shielded awe. Harry now sees this wasn't a plan. Draco had to rehash everything he wanted to show us….it really was a whim to do this.

"C_ough, _shall we get on with it, then?" Harry asks us. Ron sighs, and creaks out his chair to stand up.

Ginny actually seems fazed at the prospect of going in as she grabs onto Harry's shoulder, where he looks determined but a little uneasy of what we're about to see.

"Here, Dromeda….give us Teddy. We'll go upstairs and…leave you all alone." Molly looks deeply troubled, Arthur stone-faced. Andromeda looks at me nervously, giving Teddy to Molly, as she surrounds this mysterious bowl.

The Weasley heads retreat to the upstairs, Arthur narrowing his eyes at Draco before he exits the kitchen.

I make it to the other end of the table and glance at Draco behind me, who looks at me deeply, with sadness and almost apology in those eyes. I give him as much of a smile as I can muster before turning around.

"On three, we'll all go in together. Agreed?"

Everyone murmurs their accordance to Harry's request.

"Ready….1…2…3."

We all stick our heads into the pensieve, and immediately I feel myself falling, light as air; into the rabbit hole.

{}

"Mother, why don't I have any friends?"

We land in an enormous garden in the back estate of home; Malfoy Manor.

Sitting under an umbrella about 2 feet away from all five of us is Narcissa Malfoy in a large sunhat, lounging in a chair drinking tea from a saucer.

I have a sudden desire to squeal out of cuteness as I witness what looks to be a five year old Draco hovering on a mini broomstick. He floats to his mother as he asks this question, and gets off the broom.

Narcissa, who had been sipping her cup, puts it down clunkily and looks very uneasy.

"Why do you think you have no friends, sweetheart?" She tries first.

"I don't have anyone to play with. People don't come over to see me, momma."

"Well," Narcissa answers shakily, "you're just not old enough yet to have a lot of friends. Little Pansy comes to see you, but she can't all the time, you know. Don't you enjoy spending time with me?"

"Well of _course _I do mother, but not all the time!" he exclaims, shoving his arms above his head adorably. "But don't I have more family than just you? I heard father talking about my cousins yesterday. Can't I play with them?"

I see Andromeda next to me, her face falling rapidly. Ginny squeezes her hand.

"Well…it's not that simple, darling. Daddy is an only child like you, and…i;m afraid you can't go see your aunts," Narcissa says in a fake cheery voice. Andromeda emits a small sob.

"But why not? Why haven't I met them?"

Narcissa is having a greatly difficult time concealing her anguish.

"One of them is in Azkaban, you remember what that is?"

Draco's eyes go wide like saucers and he claps his hands dramatically to his mouth.

"Why is she in _there?" _He shudders.

"You don't need to know that yet, Draco. Please don't ask me again," she says firmly. Draco cowers slightly and nods.

"What about my other aunts? How many cousins do I have?" He asks a millisecond later, getting over quickly the fact that his aunt is in jail.

"Draco-"

"_Please?" _he begs with puppy dog eyes. Narcissa takes a deep shaky breath and rolls her eyes back, as if she can't handle to talk about it.

"You have one cousin. She's maybe 12 now. Named Nymphadora."

"And what is she like?" Draco asks, jumping up to sit down on the seat next to his mother.

"I- I've never met her, sweetie." Narcissa wipes an eye with her napkin as daintily as possible.

"Why?"

"Because I haven't seen your Aunt Andromeda in a very long time." Andromeda looks at her younger sister years ago, feigning that she's okay when she's clearly upset. And I can see the hurt in her eyes; why didn't she go to see her if she was so distraught over it?

"But isn't she your sister, momma? Why? Isn't that mean?" Draco looks directly into her eyes with his bright grey ones, with a look of confusion.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to explain you something important and I need you to remember it. Alright?"

"Okay." He looks expectantly up at her, making it all the harder for her to start. She takes a long swig of tea and sighs.

"You know how daddy taught you about Muggles? And muggle borns?"

"Yes," he replies, scrunching his face at the thought of it.

"Well, your Aunt, my sister, she married a man who had muggle parents."

Draco's eyes go wide again, and he gulps, unable to say anything at something so appalling.

"When I graduated from Hogwarts, you know, the school you'll go to, she went with him instead of coming home. Grandma and grandpa were very upset that she didn't want to be with a pureblood wizard like daddy is, like I am, and like you are. They were so mad, they didn't want to talk to her again. For us to talk to her. So we haven't. I want you to see your aunt, but I don't want to make your father angry, and I don't want you to grow up without your grandparents, without a good life. So…we don't see your cousin and your aunt because daddy doesn't want us to see them. It wouldn't look good on the Malfoy's, because we shouldn't associate with people who talk to Muggles. Okay?"

Draco looks down at the table for a moment, frowning, evidently trying to figure out why somebody wouldn't talk to someone they love even if they did something 'bad'.

Then he raises his head; "Okay."

The scene dissolves.

{}

We reappear into King's Cross, as all five of us land on our feet next to…an eleven year old Draco. He appears to be about to go on the train, his father speaking to him one last time, his mother stroking his hair.

"Now Draco," Lucius Malfoy drawls, looking vaguely proud, "remember what we told you. Make friends with good people, you know what that means by now, and anyone not in Slytherin should be someone like Harry Potter," Harry stiffens awkwardly, and pensieve-Draco makes an audible protest. "Now now, I know he's half-blood, but he's famous, and you would do well to be nice to him,"

"But father, _I _don't want to live in some hero's shadow. I want to be better than him!" he whines.

"You already are, son." This calms Draco down immediately, and he smiles up at Narcissa.

"Is that true, mother?"

"Of course, darling. I don't want you to worry too much about friends though, I'm sure you'll make many right away."

"Yes, go for the weaker ones. Vincent and Gregory seem a little dimwitted, I'm sure they could offer you some protection if you threatened them with your power."

"_Lucius_," Narcissa tsks, folding her arms.

"We need to make sure he's okay in that dump. If you had let me send him to Durmstrang…."

Draco crosses his arms exactly like his mother, evidently bored by his parents bickering.

"I'm sure any lesser bloods will not be in Slytherin, so he needn't worry about it. Just make sure you do your best in school, darling. Professor Snape will be your head of house, and he's our good friend, he can help you out with any problems. You remember him?"

"Yes, I remember," Draco rolls his eyes. "Can I go now? I don't want to look like a baby."

"Of course son, you only have a few minutes before it leaves anyways. Good bye, Draco." Lucius leans down to give his son a very trite hug, patting him once on the back.

"_Oh_, I'll miss you, darling. Please write! I'll make sure I send you sweets when you ask." Unlike her husband, Narcissa engulfs Draco in embrace and doesn't let go.

"_Mother, you're embarrassing me." _He grumbles into her robes.

"Don't coddle the boy, Narcissa," Lucius grimaces, looking around, as if displaying emotion is to display weakness.

Narcissa lets go of him, tears in her eyes. "Good bye, Draco."

Draco waves, no trace of fear on his face, and picks up his trunk. He steps onto the car and before going in leans out.

"Bye. Maybe send me my broom, too, hmm?" and disappears into the Hogwarts express, smirking.

Lucius gives him a stern look.

The scene dissolves.

{}

"But Father, why can't you tell me where we're going?"

It's the Quidditch World Cup – Lucius and Draco are walking fervently away from the stands, seems like it's right after the match. Draco's mother is oddly absent.

"If I have to tell you again, you're going to be in a world of trouble, Draco. _Keep your mouth shut and follow me."_

"But I thought we were going to leave this place immediately after the match, why couldn't I go with mother? We're not even going the right way. Pansy invited me over for dinner and I hardly think I should be kept waiting to hang around the common plebeians."

Lucius sighs greatly, and rubs his temple with a gloved hand. "Just _follow_ me, son."

Draco rolls his eyes, but obeys him, and those of us in the present struggle to keep up with their heavy pace that leads away from all the tents and into the forest.

After a few silent minutes of walking through the trees, we find ourselves in a clearing full of around 15 men that look as dapper as our resident Malfoy's, grinning and laughing at their conversation.

"Ah, Walden Macnair." Lucius opens his arms wide for a moment before shaking the thin man's hand. "Been a long time, friend."

"Lucius," he nods in return. "It certainly has, too long. How nice of you to join our…._hunting _party." A few of the men let out malicious chuckles.

Draco looks perplexed, but joins the big boys in their laughter. A blond man turns his gaze to him, now that he's made himself known.

"Is little Draco joining us tonight then, Malfoy?" It's that Death Eater from the Coffee Shop, Rowle.

He gives Lucius a devilish grin, but Lucius doesn't return it.

"'Fraid not, Rowle. Just brought him along for the ride. Show him the ropes," he winks charmingly to the other unrecognizable faces in the cluster. They chuckle some more.

"The _ropes, _father?" Draco asks, raising an eyebrow.

Lucius turns around from the group, cape swinging, and faces Draco.

"A moment, please. Then the festivities will begin?"

"Certainly," Macnair replies, curling his lips to reveal a twisted smile.

Lucius pushes Draco away, grabbing him by the arm to drag him off to the side so they're hidden by a large tangle of brush.

Everyone in the dream sneaks forward to cower in to their conversation.

"I've brought you with me son, because you know about Death Eaters. When you inquired about the meaning to Severus and wouldn't stop, hm, _prodding_," he enunciates. "Severus thought it worthy to note to me. I thought perhaps seeing the real men in action would satisfy your _curiosity._ " Draco cringes slightly, like he was expecting a backhand.

"Now now," Lucius drawls patting his shoulder, snickering slightly. "There's no need to be scared, Draco. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not angry. No, I'm going to enlighten you. You're old enough to know now that I am, in fact, one of them. A Death Eater."

He trails a hand to his cloak, and gently rolls it up so as to not ruin the fabric, to reveal the dark mark. It's not as inky black as I've seen it before, nor as faded grey as it is now.

"You mean…" Draco inquires breathless.

"Yes. Once upon a time your father was much respected in the ranks of the Dark Lord. I'll admit that I enjoyed the fun more than the responsibility, but it looked as if the Dark Lord was going to vanquish, and now, you want to be on the winner's side, don't you?" Draco nods uncertainly. "Since Severus feels it necessary to indulge you on a term you no doubt stumbled across at school, perhaps I shouldn't hide it from you. Your mother thinks you are too young, but you're a clever boy, aren't you? You won't breathe a word of this to _anyone, _will you?" He looks at his son, with an ardent look in his eyes, desperate almost, grabbing him to pull him close.

"O-of course. Of course I won't."

Lucius loosens his grip, but doesn't let go of Draco's jacket. "You have a tendency to loosen your lips to impress people at school. If you get in trouble again like you did with that Hippogriff, if you tell anyone, _especially _Potter and pals, you will be in a world of trouble. _I _will be in a world of trouble, and so will your mother. This mark….this mark would ruin me, Draco. Nobody except these men know what I've done in the past. I donate plenty of money to Fudge, in turn he pulls strings for me. I told the Ministry that I was under the Imperius Curse, that Voldemort forced me to do these awful things after he fell so long ago. But they are _lies."_

"Does mother know about this?" Draco asks. Lucius rolls his eyes.

"Of course she does, you idiot. Listen to me. If Potter finds out, he'll rat me out. Even if the Ministry is unlikely to believe a boy over me, I can't risk it. This mark, Draco, he only gave it to people who were the most loyal, and I was _very _good at what I did. Concrete evidence would expose me as a fraud. It is _imperative _you know what I do on the side, but know only so you keep your mouth shut. And only bring it up when I do. You understand?"

"Completely," Draco replies automatically, searching for something in his father's expression. He looks in awe at him, clearly thinking his life up until now a bit boring.

"Good." Lucius straightens up and clears his throat. "Any questions you want to ask me?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "What do you _do_, exactly?"

Lucius looks deranged as his expression changes from neutral to pleasured. "Lots of things, son. It used to be whatever you were told; they were missions, issued by the Dark Lord himself. It was a rough time for everyone involved, but I was particularly good at, shall we say, putting the Muggles in their place."

Draco gulps. "That's great and all, father. But He Who Must Not Be Named…he's dead, right? I mean, why would you gather here tonight?"

He can't conceal his underlying fear, leaving Lucius looking a tad disappointed.

"He's still gone, son. There would be no point in us terrorizing the masses at a time like this, it's our choice now. I'd know if he were back, we _all_ would. Every once in a while, we like to gather round for a good old romp like the old days. The stupid Irish are loud enough that we can get away with this once in a lifetime opportunity. The ones who aren't locked away convene in a manner such as this every once in a blue moon. Kind of like having a reunion party, ha ha," he chuckles heartlessly.

"Oh. Well what am _I_ supposed to do? And what are you doing anyways?"

"You're supposed to stand back and watch. Everyone knows what you look like, who you are. They touch a hair on your head, they'll feel my wrath into the next millennia. So go and stand over by those trees near the Muggle Camp entrance. And _don't_ move. I'll come retrieve you when I'm done."

"But what are you doing?" Draco repeats a little louder as Lucius walks back into the clearing with his 'friends'.

"We're going to have a little chat with the Muggles, boy." Who I'm fairly certain is Crabbe Sr. responds to Draco instead of his father, and the circle is roused with laughter once more.

"Now step aside, son, and watch how it's done, ah?"

"Masks on, gentlemen." With a flick of many wands, black masks appear from thin smoky air and form onto the men's faces. They put their hoods up for a full masquerade, and Lucius shoves Draco to steer him out into the clearing once again. After they've walked close enough to the edge of the forest to see tents, and torches have been lit, the scene dissolves.

{}

It's very dark.

We're in a corridor.

No windows seem to be visible, or else it's a cloudy night.

"_I can't see anything at all,_" Ginny whispers.

I take a few steps out to get a bearing or sense of where we are, when Andromeda makes me jump from my skin: "THERE."

I turn around and she's pointing behind where we appeared; Draco in his nightclothes, standing at a large closed door, his ear to the oak.

We all run towards him, and awkwardly scramble to surround his frame so we too, can hear what he heard.

"_Shh, stop moving," _Harry commands, as we try to stand still.

"_Tell me, Lucius, tell me what happened." _I recognize the cold clear voice of Narcissa. Must be in their bedroom. She does not sound impressed.

"_I just _did, _Narcissa. He's BACK. Do the details really matter?"_

"_Of course they matter!" _she cries, her temper rising.

"_I felt the mark burning, as you know it has been for months. But this time I was summoned for certain. Not like the stupid fiasco at the World Cup."_

"_And?"_

He sighs, a very tired sound. _"And all the ones who aren't locked up obviously showed up. We had to. He was there, the Dark Lord reborn, standing inn a graveyard, and so was Potter."_

"_Harry Potter?" _she sounds shocked. _"Then, the Dark Lord did not kill him?"_

"_Yes, and no. Of course he didn't, otherwise you would know. He was not pleased with me. He thinks that I should've pulled the Lestrange route and stayed in prison out of loyalty," _Lucius spits. "_As if that would solve anything. No, blast, the Dark Lord made Potter duel with him so he could defeat him. But something very odd happened – their wands intertwined, connected. Killing curse against Expelliarmus; I've never seen anything like it. Potter's wand exploded this strange white light and he managed to get away by using the Triwizard Cup which was a Portkey. So now obviously, The Dark Lord is livid. But I think that if I co-operate it will be alright…for now. We need to get back into his good graces."_

"_But what does that mean for us…..for you?"_

"_I don't know."_ His confidence wanes, his voice is sober.

"_You're going to have to hurt people again. You're going to disappear and then expect me to pretend you're on business. Act like everything's fine, like last time."_

"_Do you think I have a choice? I'm going to have to do what he says or….who knows what will happen."_

"_And Draco? Do you think he's going to care if he's a child? _"A thump, then a sob.

"_He'll be fine. Narcissa, he's going to be just fine. I promise."_

"_You can't promise me that, and you _know_ you can't."_

Suddenly footsteps can be heard edging close to the door. Draco shoots up like an arrow, gasps, and leaps behind a vase that is in a nook of the wall just moments before the door swings open through Ron and Harry's torsos.

Narcissa saunters by with a handkerchief to her glistening face, too fast to notice her son, who stares at her with concern as she reaches the end of the endless hall.

The scene dissolves.

_{}_

We're in Malfoy Manor, in the same room where Bellatrix Lestrange tortured me.

Despite his apparent loathing at the situation, Ron squeezes my hand as he edges towards me, as I try blocking the memories out that are triggered by this room. I look at him briefly and give him a smile as best I can.

By the roaring fireplace are the Malfoy's sitting in chairs, but the set scene is odd. It's too tense, it doesn't look comfortable. Narcissa is sipping tea with a shaky hand, while Draco looks at the flames, no register in him. Lucius has pin straight posture, as if he's waiting.

_KNOCK KNOCK_

Everyone flinches slightly. Narcissa grabs her sons hands from across her chair arm.

"I'll get it," Lucius utters wordlessly, and walks heavily from the room.

Harry decides that he should move from standing in front of the scene to the right, so he can watch the full effect. He pulls Ginny along, while I walk with Ron to end up right next to Draco, whose eyes and expression I notice, are _not_ lifeless; they're filled with silent anxiety.

Everyone's glued to the door, wondering who's going to return through it. If this stream of memories is in chronological order, I have a terrible hunch.

My intuition is correct as I hear a sharp happy cackle resonate from just beyond the door.

"Cissy, darling, oh it's been far too much time. You look as radiant as ever." Bellatrix ambles across the cold stone floor to her sister, Lucius in slow tow looking grim. She looks a lot thinner than when we first met her in the Department of Mysteries, though just as deranged.

Narcissa stands with fear, but still awaits her sisters arrival on the carpet by the fire.

"I trust you received my letter," she asks, going in to give her a hug. Narcissa is too shocked to speak, but wraps her arms around Bellatrix all the same.

"Yes, we did, _Bella._" Lucius replies scathingly. "What were you thinking? What if it was intercepted? What business do you have coming here? What do you think would happen should anyone from the ministry come round? You know they've come here 5 times since January. And where's Rodolphus?" He's absolutely livid, flailing his hands with animation, thumping the floor with his cane.

Bellatrix lets go of Narcissa, and turns towards her brother-in-law, giving him that small smirk that used to haunt me. "So many questions, Lucius. Perhaps you'd have all the answers if you weren't too much of a coward to go to Azkaban, be a _real _Death Eater." Lucius grunts his disapproval.

"You didn't answer my question."

Narcissa reaches in to grab his hand, but he shakes it away.

"Not that it concerns you; Rodolphus is with _him, _we stayed by his side since we escaped. I was permitted to leave to deliver a message," Bellatrix spits.

Draco emits a small intake of breath. His aunt spins around.

"Ah, _Draco_, I almost forgot you were here. Got a break from the Hogwarts filth?" she chuckles. "You've grown _so much_ since the last time I saw you." She puts her hands together with joy and strolls towards him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and looks to his parents for something to do, who exchange glances.

"Now, now, don't be afraid of me. I know it's been many years, but don't you remember your Aunt Bella?"

Draco grimaces, but gets up to receive the embrace from his aunt.

"That's a good boy."

She backs up and grips his face with her hands, pulling him down to examine him. The uneasy visage stays.

"So tall, you are. My, he does look a lot like you, Lucius. _Pity." _She lets him go and he rubs his face where she touched him.

"What was it you wanted to say, Bella?" Lucius asks exasperated, rubbing his temple.

"Aren't you even a little curious as to how we escaped? It seems you want me out of here as quick as you can. Do you think the Dark Lord will appreciate this kind of rejection towards his most faithful servant?"

Lucius sighs. "Bella, I was _there _when he returned. He called _us_. I've been doing my part to try and keep the Ministry under wraps, for _him. _My influence is no doubt helpful, and it would have disappeared completely if I had gone to Azkaban."

"Ha! For him? More like for yourself, dear brother."

"For my family; for him; for everyone that matters, including you, Bella. Excuse me for not being a little more acquiescing when my son is present. I've told him the basics but he doesn't need to know all this."

"Au contraire, Lucius, the time will come when he _will _need to know all this. Now would you rather him be prepared or be in the dark?"

"W-what are you talking about?" Draco asks hoarsely, still standing motionless.

"Nothing, Draco, go up to your room."

"But-"

"I said _now."_

Draco walks stiffly out of the room, not before his aunt has a say.

"Your daddy is going on a mission, Draco. To help out the Dark Lord, who seems to think that he is still worthy of being in charge. He'll be with me…and some others, so don't fret. It has to do with Potter, if that helps your blood thirst. If he succeeds you'll actually have something to be proud of him for."

"Upstairs, _now." _Draco exits the room and the last thing we see is Lucius glaring at Bellatrix, Narcissa heavy with worry.

The scene dissolves.

{}

This place we're in next all looks very institutional. Doors with numbers line the hall.

"Why are we in St. Mungos?" Andromeda asks. Oh, of _course._

We're not in the same ward as when we visited Arthur, ditto the one as Gilderoy Lockhart.

"AUGH!"

Room 27 is right across from us, slightly ajar. That's where the scream came from, and I know it's Draco. It's the same sound he made when Crookshanks scratched him.

Ron is still holding my hand, and I glance at him to walk towards it with me as the others follow along.

As I enter the room first, I feel a sharp something attack me in the chest at the sight of him.

He's pale green, a healer is muttering some sort of spell over him. She holds his hand up to the wand-stream. It looks to be the consistency of pudding, and the colour of sludge. In fact, the whole lower half is putrid jelly.

The healer looks young, she has black hair and kind eyes. "I know it hurts, Mr. Malfoy, but this is the only way to get your arm in its rightful shape."

We watch in horror as the green slime transforms itself from liquid to solid bone, tendons, and finally regrown skin.

"_I want to vomit._" Ginny whispers, covering her mouth.

"_Owwww," _Draco groans as his wrist snaps back into place. "I want to see my mother, where is she?" he croaks.

"She was hysterical, Draco. She stayed by your side when we first brought you here, but she can't stay if you want me to be able to do this properly. It's distracting."

"Well fuck me, shouldn't there be some consequence for what's been done to me?" he yells as his pinky is solid once more.

"Language, Mr. Malfoy. And volume. There are other people in here."

"Harry Potter and 10 others on the Hogwarts Express attacked me and my friends, and you think I'm just going to stay calm? Nobody cares that he broke the law?"

The nurse rolls her eyes. "I have no discretion and I know you're bitter that your father is in Azkaban, Mr, Malfoy, your mother told me everything that you've been through in the past few weeks. For now, _yes_ I need you to stay calm or you're going to be in this mess permanently_."_

Harry snaps his fingers. "This is when we cursed him with the DA in fifth year on the train home."

"Why would you do that?" Andromeda asks, looking like she'll be sick.

"Because he was plotting to curse Harry," Ron replies. "He had Crabbe and Goyle ready to attack him because his father ended up in Azkaban, where he belongs."

Draco is getting angry. "How dare you talk about my father so blatantly. You have no idea-"

"In fact, I _do _have some idea of who your father is," the nurse says scathingly. "You should feel lucky I'm even healing you. Nobody else wanted to get involved with your family on shift today. So if you please, you'll shut your mouth and let me do my job. I still have a while to go."

Draco growls in protest but stays quiet and turns away from her.

She walks over to his legs and takes the covers off of him.

Ron gags at the sight of the naked mangled flesh, Ginny whimpers, the nurse even has a hard time staring at it properly.

The scene dissolves.

{}

Our next destination is in front of a jail cell.

Azkaban.

I feel a chill down my spine as I look into the bars and see Lucius Malfoy, dressed in classic cinema inmate garments; a black and white striped jumpsuit. He looks tired and lifeless, all hope gone from him. He's sitting on the dirty cell floor, leaning against a small cluster of straw that looks like a bed. It's absolutely barbaric how these people are living.

Harry is looking around to catch glimpses of Dementors, but none can be found.

Narcissa is oddly absent again. Draco is clutching the bars, looking stern.

It's raining outside the barred window, and you can hear the seas waves crash against the walls.

"I'm going to get Potter if it's the last thing I do." Draco says, trying to hold back tears. "For what's he's done to you."

Lucius doesn't respond for a moment.

"The Dark Lord is furious."

"But you did your best didn't you? You tried to do what he –"

"You think he's _forgiving_, Draco?" he asks wheezily, almost laughing. "You think he cares at all that I tried? Don't act like a fool, son. It's time to grow up, face the harsh realities of the real world."

"What are you talking about…?" Draco asks, worried.

"Draco, _I _was the one who gave Ginny Weasley that diary that opened the Chamber of Secrets," Lucius says defeated.

"_What_?"

Ginny shuffles noticeably, loathing the man for what he's done to her. Harry holds her, trying to keep her soothed.

"The Dark Lord gave it to me many years ago. Before you were born. He told me what it did and entrusted it to me to help him with some stupid plot that never came to fruition. I gave it to the silly girl in hopes that I could sack Dumbledore once and for all for running an unsafe school, and discredit that buffoon Arthur Weasley."

"So?"

"_So_? Draco, do you understand I disobeyed the Dark Lord? You know what that means? I threw away one of _his _possessions. I never thought – In my wildest nightmares I didn't think – he wasn't supposed to return! How can he be alive?" He questions, more to himself than Draco.

"Now that I went and broke that stupid prophecy, as I just told you, the Malfoy's will _never _be entrusted with another task. Two times we've failed. We're going to be grovelling on our knees son. Now it's up to _you _to try and redeem us, the family. To protect us, yourself, and your mother especially. She's not a Death Eater."

He gulps. "What are you saying? Are you saying that I'm – that I'm –"

"The Dementors have gone, son. I'll probably be out of here soon, when he needs me again." Lucius avoids the question. "The Dark Lord runs this prison, despite what Fudge thinks, that stupid oaf."

"Father, what do you mean when you say I have to protect you?"

"I'm saying that he'll likely give you a mission. And you will do it unless you want your life to be ruined, and everyone else's that's important to you."

Draco looks at his father, whose staring at him dead in the eyes, unnerving. I imagine that he doesn't do it much.

"_Okay_. I understand." His voice breaks. "I – I love you, father."

"Don't let me down, son."

The scene dissolves.

{}

Raucous laughter fills the air.

"_Please! Please don't do this."_

"Be quiet, Cissy. _Shush."_

Narcissa is being restrained by her sister and brother-in-law, who stand among a small circle. The five of us cannot see what everyone is witnessing so we move forward. It appears we're in Malfoy Manor again.

In the centre stands Voldemort. And he's talking to Draco.

We're all frozen, it's quite unsettling to see Voldemort alive again, in such a lifelike circumstance.

"Draco, Draco, you look so frightened. Why my boy? Haven't you been just _aching _to join us?" The cold, chillingly debonair voice of Tom Riddle fills the room.

I shudder.

Draco is breathing raggedly, mentally out of his wits. He's barely able to stand.

"No? You haven't been? I take your silence as a protest, tsk tsk. Too scared to tell us all gathered here that you _don't _want to be a Death Eater?"

Narcissa sobs.

Draco tries to speak. "N- I – I,"

"What's that?" Voldemort says, cupping a hand dramatically to his ear. "Maybe you _do _want to be one of us? You think your father is weak? That he couldn't even accomplish a task involving children? Well, I agree."

The men with masks all have a great time with this jab. Plenty of them sneer. Others make snide remarks.

"Your father told me you loathe Potter; good choice, Draco. He's our Undesirable No. 1. Since I know you're just awaiting a chance for retribution on him for what he's done to your dear old dad, here's your shining opportunity." He walks around Draco, who tries to turn in unison with him. "Draco, your father used to be so very helpful, very valuable. The best torturer I had. And now he's failed me _twice. _Which makes you and your family a _joke. _What I need you to do now, is redeem yourself by assassinating someone for me. To earn your stripes. Do you think you're up to that?"

"NO! PLEASE, NO!" Narcissa has wriggled free from Bellatrix and runs to the centre to grab her son.

"SILENCE!" Voldemort brandishes his wand and flicks it to her; she flies onto her back.

Draco's first instinct is to reach out for his mother, but Voldemort is faster than him. He wordlessly curses Draco to make him flip onto the ground, smashing his chest.

"Narcissa, my dear, I know you wish to protect your son, but this is not your concern anymore. So stay out of it unless you wish to be hurt. Draco, your job for the new school year is to kill your headmaster; Dumbledore."

Draco's eyes go wide as he scrambles to get up and regain dignity he doesn't have.

"I've underestimated people like Harry Potter in the past. Perhaps your new generation of children are smarter than you look; so prove it. You will do this, and maybe, perhaps, you will be able to get back in my good graces. None of you in this room will speak of this to anybody else; it _must _be kept quiet or you'll face the consequences. Draco, you have the rest of the summer to devise a plan. I know your Aunt Bellatrix will help you. If you should fail, your whole family will be in a dire situation, so _don't_ disappoint me. Now, on to the _formalities._"

Bellatrix squeals in delight contrasting her sister, who sits horrified on the ground, unable to move an inch.

"Come over to me boy, and lift up your shirt sleeve." He grins to show his disgusting teeth.

Draco takes a deep breath and glances at his mother before moving.

With the gait of a man walking to the guillotine he shoves his blazer upwards, and places it in front of his new master.

"Ready? You're the youngest Death Eater I've ever branded, Draco. Feel that honour spread through your veins," he hisses. He grabs hold of Draco's hand. "_Maculamorde."_

He points the tip of his wand to his wrist and his flesh flows red.

His whole body vibrates like he's being electrocuted. He gives out short shaky breaths , groans and whimpers for a minute until he screams.

"_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuggghhhhhh !"_

The Dark Mark seeps like poisonous ink onto his forearm, snaking in and out of his veins.

After what feels like far too long, the scene dissolves.

{}

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as we enter the next scene.

"I've never seen a wound like this Severus, what happened?" Madam Pomfrey is cleaning up blood off of Draco's chest, while Snape uses _Vulnera Sanentur _onto his split lacerations. She looks very concerned, and I would be too. His hair, his clothes are soaked in red.

We're in the Hospital Wing right after Harry jinxed him sixth year.

"It was an accident. The caster didn't know what the spell did. It just so happens, I've seen the very incantation used before Poppy, so I know how dangerous it is."

"What spell is it?"

"It's best if we heal now, talk later," Snape says avoiding her question. "Draco, are you still breathing?"

"_Yes," _he wheezes, wincing in pain.

"Good. I need you to hold your breath and count to 5. Be still, I'm going to heal one at the bottom of your abdomen." He unzips Draco's trousers and pulls them down slightly. Draco shifts to pull them back up, by Snape forces his hands onto the cot to be still. "_Count_."

"_One_…._two_…"

With a long stroke, Snape drags his wand over the place that present-Draco has a scar. The one I saw a few days ago when we were changing. The wound cauterizes, the cut traces over his pelvis. As it heals on the bone he screams.

The scene dissolves.

{}

Bellatrix, Snape, Draco and a bunch of other unnamed Death Eaters are striding down a street. It's raining. Everyone except Snape and Draco look elated.

"La la la la la la la, the Headmaster's dead! Ahahahaha!" Bellatrix sings, hopping down the road.

"This is right after they killed him," Harry murmurs, eyes fixated on his mother's lover.

"Draco, you can't go back there now, you know this? Even if I become Headmaster like the Dark Lord has planned, you'll be eaten alive by the students if they find out." Snape is shielding Draco from everyone else, explaining to him his new life.

Draco says nothing and nods.

"Don't worry about the Dark Lord. You were able to get the Death Eaters into the castle, and you had him at wand point. You may or may not be punished, but he will not be livid for too long with you because we succeeded."

"_Why did you kill him_?" Draco asks unhappily, wiping his face to rid himself of the droplets that have drenched him.

"Because you wouldn't have." Snape replies lifelessly.

"But it was my job, _my _task."

"If you're worried about the fate of your mother, I'll –"

"Of _course _I'm worried about her. Of course that's why I'm angry!" he spits. "What if he decides to –"

"Draco, you're going to listen to me," he says, stopping Draco by the shoulders who in turn snarls, and pulls him in front of him.

"Ya comin', Severus?" Dolohov calls from a few meters away.

"A moment Antonin."

He flicks his gaze back to Draco. "Draco, your mother came to _me_ in the summer, begging for assistance to help you. I made an Unbreakable Vow that if you showed resistance I would step in for _you._ I put my life on the line for _you. _She defied the Dark Lord by asking for help because she loves you. I could see how troubled she was, don`t you even care about that? Maybe show a little more respect to _me _now that you know, show more than you have for this entire year."

Snape flicks his coat lapels to adjust them and spins around.

"Thank you."

Snape halts mid-stride.

"What did you say?" He narrows his eyes at Draco whose tone was anything but sincere.

He walks forward to catch up with his teacher. "I said thank you, but really? I meant thanks for nothing. Because you're already in his good books, and me? My mother? We're at the bottom. If he gets angry, we're first to go, and you know it. I appreciate you helping me, but everyone thinks I'm a coward already, and now I can never prove myself. My mother worries about me too much, I could've -"

"She worries because you are a _child. _You're barely 17 and you want to kill someone in cold blood? Most people don't have the nerve to do such things. You are not a murderer, Dumbledore was right. A_nd you know it_. So I suggest you take your blessings as they're handed to you before you run out of them."

Snape stalks away disgusted.

"_I am not a child," _Draco mutters.

The scene dissolves.

{}

"More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time... You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure... Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"

"I had a dream about this!" Harry says aloud.

We're in Malfoy Manor once more, Draco has his wand pointed at Rowle, who is cowering on the ground. This is right after we escaped Luchino Cafe. I remember because he is the Death Eater I first used a memory charm on. Out of habit, I try to find a window, as an indicator of season. There's snow on the ground.

"Please, let _me _do it master, I beg, I beg," says a loyal servant. "The boy has no stomach for it."

"No, let the boy do it. Go on." Voldemort sits on Lucius Malfoy's chair, watching the scene play out.

Draco looks up to the sky and blinks hard, hating what he has to do.

"_Crucio."_

Electric waves shoot from his wand to Rowle and last but a few seconds. Rowle passes out nonetheless.

"That was hardly good enough, Draco. Come on now. Put your back into it next time. Travers, you can do the honours."

Travers grins and goes to shoot Rowle, but Voldemort puts a hand up.

"No no, not Rowle. To _Malfoy_." Fear shines in Draco's eyes as Travers twists his lips up and reveal teeth. "Maybe this will make you see, Draco."

"_Crucio_," he inflects with no hesitation. Draco is on the ground in seconds, writhing in pain.

The scene dissolves.

{}

It reforms in the same room. We're next to Draco and his Mother and Lucius.

I'm about to shade my eyes and huddle into Ron when I notice that across the room…it's _me. _On the ground. Of course, Lucius isn't stunned. _We haven't escaped yet._

I can't bear to watch the next scene that appears.  
Why would he add this onto his list of memories? Why wouldn't he skip this?_  
_

"I'll ask you again, you filthy Mudblood, How did you get my sword?" Bellatrix screeches.

My excruciating screams fill the room as Bellatrix once again uses an unforgivable curse on Dream-Hermione's limp form.

"I swear – it's a copy, a copy!"

"LIAR!"

"STOP, PLEASE, NO – IT- AHHHHHHH!"

Harry grabs onto my shoulder, while Ginny and Ron have either of my hands. Andromeda has buried her head in her own.

Suddenly a thunk; Draco has fallen to his knees.

"_This didn't happen," _I whisper, confused. "He didn't fall on the ground."

"What?" Harry asks with concern.

'Draco?" Narcissa whispers to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"S-stop….Aunt Bellatrix.." he starts weakly, trying to get close to his evilest relative.

"What! ?" She screams, turning madly from my lifeless form to him."Ohhh, is ickle Draco sad about the poor filthy girl dying? Make your stomach _churn_, does it? Ahahahahaha!"

She laughs like the mad woman she is and turns to Greyback, who has been standing watch from afar, lust and hunger clearly in his eyes.

"Fenrir, my darling, why don't you finish her off for me? She clearly isn't telling the truth."

"Be my pleasure," he says with relish in his tone, his rancid teeth spreading to a grin.

Like a horror movie, I watch as the deranged werewolf walks towards me. Draco is gawking at him, tears splashing his cheeks.

The next thing I see is ripping flesh and clothing. Now I'm almost completely naked, shielded by the monster, crying hysterically as the werewolf runs his hands all along my bare skin, violating me in the most fiendish way, and then – he bites into Hermione's neck.

Her blood sprays everywhere. He hit her jugular, and it gets onto Draco's hands. Onto his clothes, and in his mouth.

"_God," _I sob, holding back tears as Ron pulls me into him so I can't watch anymore.

The last thing I see before my eyes close is Draco hovering over me, completely cold and lifeless. She's dead.

"I don't understand…" Harry says again horrified. "You didn't die- so?"

"Wait a second – " Ginny says. I push Ron away slightly.

The scene doesn't dissolve, it merges to form a bathhouse. Slytherin robes hang on the door.

_Oh my god._

I leave my warm embrace to walk over to the bath in a daze, putting my hands on the cold edge. Draco lies underneath the heavy water in the great stone basin. His eyes are wide, as if he's just realized where he is, as if he's just awoken, before he chokes. Bubbles rise to the surface for a few seconds and then the water goes still.

He was dreaming about _me _that night, the night when I saved his life.

I look at Harry, who's just as taken aback as I am when the scene dissolves.

{}

Voldemort has arrived again, and he looks positively evil. No hint of his regular ferocious humour, just unaltered loathing. _This _is right after we all left with Dobby. If I have to visit a reformed Malfoy Manor one more time, I may break down.

"You call me over to inform me that you have Potter? But he got _away? _With _my _sword! MY SWORD? ! PATHETIC IMBECILES. FOOLS!"

"M-my Lord-"

With a wave of his wand he shocks Lucius into unconsciousness once more.

"My Lord, I swear, I swear it's in the vault. My vault! The Mudblood said it was a copy, and the goblin told us it wasn't the real one! We tortured it out of them, didn't we?"

Bellatrix grovels at his robes, but he backs up disgusted.

"It's not going to be as easy for me to forgive this time, Bellatrix. A lot of our main Snatchers are dead thanks to you."

"But it isn't my fault! Draco is the one who didn't recognize them! Draco is the one who said he wasn't sure if it was Potter, but it _was. _If he had told us straight away, maybe we could –"

"_How dare you blame him!" _Narcissa yells, balling her fists.

"Is this true?" Voldemort asks of my boyfriend, striding towards him, who recoils immediately.

"P-Potter had a – a jinx on his face. I – I didn't want to inform you, m-my lord, because I was uncertain it was him." To us we know it's a blatant fib, but Voldemort surprisingly falls for it for a moment for he furrows his brow. "I didn't want to waste your t-t-time."

"But what about the other two? The blood traitor and mudblood?" he asks, searching for lies.

"I do not associate with them," Draco gulps, and then adds, "My lord. I didn't recognize them without school robes, they were battered and unclean."

Draco tries very hard to look into his master's eyes, to make his claim sincere. Voldemort clutches his face, likely about to read his mind, but instead lifts him above the ground and tosses him aside so he hits the wall.

His head cracks on the stone and I feel a compulsion to go over to him.

"You are all useless."

"My lord, _please_."

"You'll all face the consequence, I'm afraid Bella, this time." He raises his wand and swirls it to create an almost thunderstorm in their fireplace room, cascading it in a hurricane-like fashion, hitting the Malfoy's and Bellatrix _over and over._

The scene dissolves.

{}

"Draco! _Draco! _Oh, thank Merlin. Thank you, _thank you." _Narcissa runs up to her son, who is sitting against a dark green wall. He's battered and bruised, but looks like he's reached salvation when his mother wraps her arms around him. After the battle.

Must be the Slytherin common room. It's unrecognizable as a comfortable area, because the furniture is mangled or destroyed, the walls barely preserved.

"Why aren't you outside with the rest of them?" Draco croaks.

"A 'happy to see you too, mum' would be nice," Narcissa sniffs into his hair.

"I'm o-only worried they'll come after you." Narcissas eyes flood with tears and she openly sobs while holding her only baby.

"They won't son. Potter's still alive. He's pre-occupied."

Lucius walks through Andromeda over to him, looking as horrible as ever, red circles under his eyes, his clothing tattered.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you out there trying to defend your honour," Draco hisses.

"Now Draco-"

"No, let go of me mother," Draco says, pushing her gently off of him. She looks surprised. "I've been a fool. I tried to get my wand back, tried to steal it from Potter, and Crabbe nearly had us all _killed. _In fact he _died_ because he doesn't know how to control his magic. I almost burnt to death because I was too proud like _you _to just give it up and I almost stopped him from _winning."_

"Potter?" Lucius asks, confused.

"Yes, _Potter," _he snaps. "You think I want the Dark Lord to win? You think I've _ever _wanted to be involved in this? Do you know what I've done? What I had to go through? I suffered for months on end as a result of your mistakes. Because _you _were stuck in Azkaban and I had to fix everything, and I never wanted to! I'm not brave enough or good enough to _do _this. And neither were you."

Lucius looks at his son and is unable to say a thing. Because he's right.

"We're leaving, Draco. We're leaving and we're never going to see that, that _creature _ever again. I don't care if we have to move. Your father is here because he loves you, and this is his way of apologizing. He doesn't care anymore about them, do you? Now get up so we can go."

Draco stands up slowly, clutching his arm, which bleeds, and holds onto his mother's outstretched hands.

They walk by Lucius, and Draco refuses to acknowledge his existence as they walk away from Slytherin tower.

The scene dissolves.

{}

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are here under inquisition of the Wizengamot for crimes committed during the war against Voldemort."

Draco is sitting in a courtroom in the Ministry of Magic, though not the same ones in the basement when we infiltrated it last year. He looks very formal, light grey dress robes, a blue tie. He's sitting in the middle on a chair, facing Kingsley Shacklebolt who is raised up higher than the rest of the jury. There are only a few people here, mostly Aurours.

We end up sitting in empty chairs next to the jury, so we can witness Draco' trial. Narcissa isn't here. I imagine Lucius was charged a few hours or maybe days ago.

"You are being charged with being an accomplice to Lord Voldemort, a Death Eater. You are also charged with the attempted assassination of Albus Dumbledore." The crowd ripples with silent speech. "Do you accept these conditions? Do you plead guilty or not guilty?"

Draco sinks into his seat. "I do, sir. Guilty, Minister," he answers, gathering his wits.

The jury look back and forth to one another, surprised at this development.

"Interesting, your father pleaded not guilty," Kingsley notes more to himself in his thick Nigerian accent. "And here you are taking full responsibility for your actions."

Draco squirms uncomfortably, unsure if he should say something.

"I suppose that is irrelevant. How old are you, Mr. Malfoy?" He asks him kindly.

"18 this March."

"And you became a Death Eater when?"

"The summer I turned 16, about two years ago." More murmurs, some gasps.

"So that makes you the youngest Death Eater ever to be branded then?"

"Apparently," Draco sighs, fear etched into his face like in every other memory we've seen him in.

I wonder just how long he's had to live that way.

"And did you consent to being a Death Eater? You admit that you committed crimes, but was it your choice?"

"Uh – " he gulps, wary of the eyes on him. "Because my father failed in retrieving the prophecy about Harry Potter, Voldemort punished him by punishing me. He wished for me to assassinate Dumbledore, and if I did not succeed he would kill my mother and myself."

Kingsley stares at Draco with new eyes, tilting his head like he's unsure of how to view the boy before him.

"You did not quite answer the question."

"He threatened my life, and my families lives. I consented only to protect myself, and by extension them. So I suppose I did, though I did not want the mark."

"I see. Is there anything you did under Lord Voldemort's rule that you'd like to admit to the jury?"

Draco shakes and starts to hyperventilate, but takes a deep breath. "I-I tortured Death Eaters who failed to do as V-v-, the Dark Lord wanted. Often I couldn't do it for very long because my heart was not in it. I was sent on missions to question wizards about the whereabouts of their family members, and – and to hurt them if they disobeyed. I couldn't – I couldn't hurt anyone. I always got punished for it, I d-don't know how I'm still alive."

Kinglsey frowns.

"You don't believe him do you?" pipes up a stout Aurour from the jury. "He's a _Malfoy, _we looked at his school record. He may be intelligent, but he was a constant bully before he became bullied himself by the Lord Voldemort that he had to answer to. He was seconds away from killing one of the greatest wizards the world has ever seen, why -"

"Quiet please, Mr. Shepard. I believe him."

"Y-you do?" Draco asks, his face softening.

"Yes, I do. Harry Potter told me you did not identify he, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley at your Manor, where Voldemort was holding people prisoner. But you knew it was them, didn't you? Six years in school together, and you managed to enable them to escape. You did not stay behind to fight at the Battle of Hogwarts. It seems like you did not want to do this, Mr Malfoy, but you could not find the bravery to get out of the situation. Mr Potter told me to let your mother go free, for reasons he wanted secret, but basically because she is a good woman."

"Okay?" Draco says, unsure. "But what does that have to do with my sentence, your Honour? Minister?"

"Your father went to Azkaban, Draco, because he escaped from it twice. He deserved to be in there for things he's done twenty years ago we don't need to rehash. He deserves to be in there for his involvement in this war again, and for dragging you into the mess. But you? You have a future ahead of yourself. You're so young, and I do not think it would help anybody to put you behind bars for a few years to 'teach you a lesson.' Technically, every offense you've committed before age seventeen should be stricken from the record, but we didn't know about them until now. You'd do better to try and make a good citizen of yourself with a clean slate. Under the circumstance, however, I do not think you should treat this lightly. You should not feel lucky, rather you should take it as an opportunity to better yourself. But the decision is not entirely up to me. All those in favour of conviction?"

Three wizards raise their hand.

"All those opposed, to clear him of his charges?" He raises his own hands with seven others. He gives a slight grin.

"Draco, you are free to go, not guilty," he swings his gavel. "This trial is adjourned."

Draco gets up and bows to Kinglsey, who nods back.

As he walks away from the courtroom, I can see tears or relief form in his eyes.

The scene dissolves.

{}

"_Draco, are you drinking again?_"

Narcissa is peeking into her sons room, where we currently stand, around an enormous black bed. Draco is laying on top of the covers, two empty bottles of unnamed liquor on his sheets. He's holding a pint of beer in one hand, swaying.

"Why yes, mother, I am," he slurs, his face completely red, his eyes squinty.

"_Why?" _she asks heartbroken.

"Because I've been having horrible dreams again," he says happily. "Rum makes them disappear."

I look at Ginny beside me, and she gives me a sad, sympathetic look.

"Draco," Narcissa sobs, "You need to stop this. You need to eat. The Minister let you off because he thought you'd do well, and look at what you're doing to yourself."

"Frankly, I don't give a single fuck, mother," he laughs mirthlessly. "Where can I go without people shunning me or kicking me out? Talking behind my back or spitting on my shoes. You cry all day and all night, then run away to France for days on end without informing me? And you can't talk to me because I remind you of _him. _So what is there for me? _This_," he says in a low voice, pointing to the bottle.

He raises the glass to his lips while his mother slams his door, and as he guzzles it down the scene dissolves.

{}

We're back in Azkaban again.

"Holy Merlin, how many memories are there?" Ron asks. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Me too," Ginny whispers. "It's mentally draining. We've been to all the most horrible places."

"It can't be long now…we're in the past few months, I know it. _We're almost done_." I word silently.

Azkaban looks a hundred times cleaner than it did a few years ago. Lucius is sitting on a single bed with a cot, no jumpsuit, the floors are free of dirt, and there are photos of his family on a small bedside table. Draco is actually inside with him, a human guard waits outside to make sure Lucius doesn't get out of line.

"Tell me, Draco, how is your mother?"

"Fine. She's fine," he says strangled, talking to his father like he's a stranger.

"Where is she?" he asks casually. "Did she not think it worthy to visit?"

"She's in France, father. She didn't know I was coming."

"France, hm? Shopping away her pain? Typical...and she didn't know? But why?" he questions with narrow eyes. Draco glances at the guard and then back to Lucius. He walks in closer.

"I've been drinking a lot. I didn't know why. Mother is no help…I remind her too much of you."

"So she doesn't talk to you?"

"She does, but she can't for very long before breaking down. She doesn't want to discuss what happened with me. And I need to do it. I did…quite a lot before you got released. I realized recently why I've been feeling low. It's because I feel…guilty. I feel…like I should be punished. Or something."

"Or something?" his head is down, facing his shoes.

"Here you are stuck in a cell when you were doing basically the same things as me."

Lucius laughs, then tilts his head back up. "Yes Draco, I _am _stuck in a cell. I am here by myself day after day, using my own money to pay for better quarters. And _you _come to me today, have the audacity to tell me that you feel like somehow you belong here? _HA!_"

"Oi, keep your voice controlled," the guard says, thwacking the prison bars.

"Would you rather switch places, son? Would you like me to ask the nice guard over there to let me free so _you _can be here for another 5 to 10 years? Would you? Because I'd _gladly _get out of here if it meant you could get some satisfaction for yourself out of it as well!"

Draco backs away from his father, who stands up slowly and ambles towards him like a madman.

"I find it a little funny that _you _escaped scot-free and now you don't really appreciate it the way I would."

"That isn't what I'm saying, it's just –"

"It's just -_what_?"

"I just feel as if I deserve some kind of retribution...or maybe -"

"YOU SHOULD CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY THAT YOU AREN'T DEAD YET! DO YOU HONESTLY THINK THAT WHAT YOU DID WAS REMOTELY EVIL COMPARED TO ME? DO YOU FANCY YOURSELF SOME KIND OF MORAL RIGHTEOUS MAN NOW AFTER BEING COVERED IN COWARDICE ? YOU DID WHAT YOU HAD TO DO, LIKE _ALL _THE REST OF US." He yells at his son and inches in closer so Draco is backed into a corner. "And you didn't even do a good _job. __I _tried to protect you, and you show me no gratitude by rubbing your freedom in my face!"

"OI!"

"_Tried to protect me?_ ME? Are you kidding me, Lucius?" Draco says disbelieving. "You did all this so _you_ wouldn't seem like a coward, so _you_ could gain power, and so _your_ name wasn't slandered. It was only for yourself, for your personal gain and pleasure. So don't you go and get angry at me for feeling _remorse._ I thought you could enlighten me for once, thought perhaps you changed, but I guess I was wrong. I want to get out now, guard!"

Draco faces the gate and the guard quickly begins to grab the key, but Lucius grabs hold of his wrist before he can leave.

"Let go of me!"

Lucius yanks Draco closer to him and whispers into his ear. "If you think that for one second, your existence mattered to _him, _that somehow you've accomplished something in your pathetic little life, think again. You will _never _be of value to any_body_ for any_thing_ because all you know how to do is slip through the cracks and leech off of people. If you think I'm pathetic, you`re ten times worse, son."

Draco shoulders his father in the chest while the guard scrambles to open the gate and begins to ask if he's okay, as he knocks Lucius with his baton.

"Get off, get off, I'm fine." He brushes off his arms, adjusts his coat, and wipes a tear from his eye. He walks away without a word to anyone, pretending he's okay, before sobbing as he gets halfway down the hallway.

The scene dissolves.

{}

We're in a dark room; immediately I spot a pink bed, and on it lay a half-naked Draco….and Pansy. _Oh god._

"This is a revolting sight," Ginny says, turning to Harry.

"What the bloody hell is this for? Why is it necessary?" Ron agrees.

"Probably for Hermione," Andromeda says, turning away at the indecency of her nephew.

I turn my attention back to them, sitting next to each other, Pansy is draping her arms drunkenly around Draco while he attempts to interrupt her

Sure enough after a few seconds of squabbling between the two, talking about moving or something, there's a catalyst.

"Pansy, I kissed Hermione Granger."

"It'll have a big bay window, lush carpets and –WHAT!"

"We had a group project together and...I fell asleep at her house and kissed her."

She stops, mouth agape for what feels like ages, until -

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?"

"Is that true!" Ron asks, outraged.

"_Shush_."

She's gripping Draco's shoulder so tight I swear the flesh is coming off, and her eyes would be red if she were a metamorphagus.

"Yes. I'm serious."

Pansy's chest is wrought with ragged breathing before she turns into full frenzy mode.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE."

"_Pansy!_"

"You – you bring that girls _filth _into here and – and don't tell me, and – and kiss me, then try and seduce me –"

"_I _did all those things? I was only let in here so you could seduce _me,_to try and marry _me._For money! And _filth?_Are you fucking kidding me? You told me a few hours ago you were over the prejudice!"

"Oh please! Who was the one who abused her mercilessly throughout the years? Who threw around Mudblood like it was an adjective! Or was that all because you secretly love her, and just had a juvenile way of showing it, don't make me puke. Just LEAVE."

She jumps off her bed and scrimmages around for I suppose his pants and jacket.

"Pansy, I have nowhere to go!"

"I DON'T CARE!" She bellows, throwing clothes at him in a fit of rage. "You humiliated me. Kiss another girl, fucking Hermione Granger of all, and then come to see me? Why? Why couldn't you go somewhere else?"

He looks like he's struggling for words "I thought. I thought that if I came here maybe I'd feel the same way I did when…"

"When _what?"_

"I just thought that I was horny. But I came over here, and you were all over me and it…Granger doesn't even like me…..but all this wasn't the same."

"It….wasn't….the."

She slowly walks across the room to the wardrobe and opens it to retrieve a robe, donning it.

"_You're a fucking loser, you know that?_" she whispers as she covers up. "Your whole family is a _joke._Your mother is only dating that man for the same reasons my parents want me to date you. You think you can just go and kiss a stupid Gryffindor, impure minx who happens to be really famous now, and that everyone is just going to turn the other way?"

Draco scoffs.

"How dare you? Does your minuscule brain have any capacity to feel or understand anything other than gain in relationships?" he spits out at her.

"_Excuse me?_"

"I kissed Granger because I had a dream about her, because I can't get her out of my godddamn head, and because she was _nice _to me, even after everything I've done. She was willing to forgive me enough to let me into her house, and not be a petty bitch."

"A petty bitch _like me_? You like that bitch don't you, Draco. Sounds like you both will live a great life in Muggle London with all the grimy city folk. Sounds like you'll really love her and her saintliness."

"I don't love her! All I did was kiss her _once."  
_  
"AGGGGH!" she wails. "But you still did it! YOU. The fucking king of venomous threats and insults. You _hated _that vile bitch because of the company she keeps. Surely Weasley and Potter won't be happy about this?"

"I don't care anymore, Pansy. I don't care about being better than everyone else. Obviously my life is turned into shit, you see? But I just want something to make me feel again. Love, hatred, anything.

"You have me! Don't you understand I want you back? Even after you're status is shit I still want you."

"But you don't get it! I want someone who loves me unconditionally, who doesn't feel like they're settling. Who cares so much wealth, like you do. I just don't fucking care anymore about everything we were told."

"_I_ don't get it? Well you know what, neither do you! You know how the world works here, and you're rebelling for no goddamn reason other than to get out of your cycle of life."

"Exactly! That's it, you fucking tart, you understand? Je ne veux vivre comme ceci plus! I don't want to live like that anymore!"

"Get out then! If you're not willing to commit to this life you were given, the one full of luxury, then fine! But I never want to see you again!"

"FINE!" he shoves his legs into crumpled pants, his chest and arms into a shirt and grabs his blazer, running out of her room as quietly as he can.

The scene dissolves.

* * *

I've been sitting on this couch alone for 5 minutes, an excruciating 300 seconds that feels like 300 years.

I have no idea what anyone is going to say or think coming out of that pensieve, but I put my worst memories on the table for all to see, and I only hope that they can make something of it.

Suddenly I hear a whooshing sound – could it really be that quick? The bodies of my former enemies reappear in the Weasley kitchen, looking as disgruntled as I felt walking back down the hill to re-enter the lion's den.

For a moment, they all simply stare at me while regaining stability as they come back to reality.

And then in the next, Hermione has run towards me and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"_I'm so sorry you had to go through all that," _she whispers into my ear while stroking my hair.

"It's not your fault, Granger. None of it. So don't be sorry. I just thought…maybe you could see why I am so…fucked up." I murmur back, hugging her back.

She kisses my forehead before letting go and backing up to reveal the other four witnesses to my most horrific times.

"Been through a lot have you, Malfoy?" Potter says first.

I smirk, and look up at him. "You might say that, Potter. I know I'm not the only one, though."

I look to Andromeda , who smiles wanly at me.

"I just needed someone to understand."

"Well, I take your gesture in good grace. It's not enough to make me forgive you, knowing you weren't so evil but doing nothing, but it's a start."

"Yeah," Ginny agrees, less lively than normal. "I thought that _we_ had it rough."

"I suppose I felt a little bad for you, ferret boy. But don't think I've gone soft and stopped keeping tabs," Ron admits.

"Of course, Weasel features," I reply. He raises an eyebrow at me, but he smirks back actually, which surprises me. "While I _love _interrogation as much as the next person, I think maybe it's time for me to go home. Leave you alone to think. You've probably had enough of me tonight."

"I'll walk you out," Hermione says. I stand up, not feeling as numb as when I got here.

"Bye, Draco. I'm going to go get Ted from Arthur and Molly." I wave good bye to Andromeda and the rest.

"See you tomorrow," Ginny says as I grab my coat off the rack.

"Tomorrow?" I inquire to Hermione as we exit the door.

"I'll explain it to you tomorrow if you'd like, come over in the morning?" she says, sauntering up the hill.

"I wish I could 'come over' now," I pout. I stop her in her tracks to pull her in for a kiss. She returns it, pulling me in close.

"Tempting, but no. I'm going to have a chat with my friends, Draco." I frown. "Don't look so sad. It's probably just going to be a retelling of out pensieve trip."

"So shall I come at 6 in the morning, then?"

"_Draco, _no. Make it 10-11 am, okay?" she titters.

"Okay, fine," I concede, my head a million times lighter than a mere 15 minutes ago. I hold her hand as I reach the forest. When we hit the borderline, I pull her in for a bigger hug than she gave me at the Burrow.

"I'll miss you too," she says chuckling when I don't let go, squeezing me.

"You are amazing, Hermione. For everything you've done tonight for me," I lean away from her shoulder but I keep my grip, looking into her eyes. She turns her head sideways to stare at me, her usual embarrassment not popping up.

"I've done? You did it all on your own. I just gave you the open door. Draco, I must admit that I'm impressed by some of the things you said in your memories. I was wrong about you, even if I was right about other things. Sometimes I forget that it's not so easy for people to just get up and do the 'right thing'."

"Impressed?" I ask surprised. "_Why? _I wanted to create sympathy more than amicability, than being able to relate."

"Because I've seen how you changed your mind, how you never really wanted to be bad and you just didn't know how to fight it. I used to think you were a coward, but you're not. What you are, is a survivor Draco. And you are _not _worthless. You mean something to people, you matter to _me," _she says, wetness glistening on her face. My stomach tightens and I wipe away her cheek with my thumb.

"_Why are you crying_?" I ask, my voice catching.

"Because I want you to know that people care about you. It seems like you don't know it enough, or even at all. People treat you different because you're a Malfoy, and that's not fair. Everyone deserves to feel like they're wanted."

"A-and you want me?" I ask, breathless.

"I want you, Draco."

She smiles at me in the radiant moonlight, eyes dewy, cheeks rouged.

And it is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.


	37. Raskolnikov

**Hey Guys! Happy 2013!**

**Hope January is treating you well, this took so long 'cause I've been SO FREAKING BUSY with the holidays. I haven't had a solid sit down for the past two weeks and now it's school time! Visiting friends, work, dinner, outings, family and partying has consumed me man. I'm sorry!**

**Love you and here you go! Definitely lighthearted compared to the past chapter, no more mental breakdowns (for now).**

* * *

The alarm is buzzing for me to get out of bed.

It's 9:15. I've already been awake for a half hour, rehashing the conversation we all had after Draco left last night. And I'm not quite finished. So I hit the snooze button.

An interrogation from the Weasley parents was made, but we all had sealed lips for the sake of Draco, (or at least I did). It's bad enough his former sworn enemies know the whole truth about him and his horrible past. Involving parents who no doubt would make a big fuss simply turns it into a mess.

We just told them that it was _very_ eye-opening. Which was clearly not satisfactory enough.

Andromeda didn't say much before she went home, and she left almost immediately after Draco, rendering Molly and Arthur worried sick. I imagine she feels bad for him, and perhaps a tad blameworthy for not being in his life more to help him, even if it wasn't her choice. She's a mother, no doubt she wished she was there through the rough times instead of Lucius.

But a fresh start can be made after all that air is cleared. For everyone. I just hope all can go well this evening.

I lay back against my pillows, closing my eyes to daydream some more before I have to get up and start the day. My mind fades to the scene in the third floor at the Burrow…

{}

_"So, what did you think of all _that_?" Ron asks us with a grimace as we settle into Ginny's room, lighting candles, sitting on her purple bed sheets._

_"It was pretty hard to watch, to be honest. I guess I never really thought about Malfoy that way, in a sympathetic way, because I hated him," Ginny says, crossing her legs and leaning against her headboard._

_"Well he got what he deserved for being such a coward," Ron huffs. Ginny rolls her eyes, and Harry is off in his own world, frowning._

_"You're just sour because he actually had something to back up his shitty behaviour."_

_"No, he had something to back up trying to save his own ass, and have us see that he's not as self-centered as we thought all along. He didn't have to bully us all those years, and be a complete prick when we were trying to save everyone," Ron counters. "Harry?"_

_Harry snaps out of his apparent daze and straightens his posture._

_"I guess I'm just finding it so hard to believe that he is as changed as he seems," he says after a pause._

_"What do you mean?" I ask._

_Harry looks down from the ceiling to all of us. "That was a really brave thing to do, wasn't it? All of it. Apologizing to us. To show us his most vulnerable moments in the hopes they we didn't hate him."_

_"Yeah…I guess it was," Ginny says. "I was too nervous to go inside the pensieve I didn't conceive of the magnitude of that action."_

_"I wouldn't have done that," Harry reveals quietly. "I don't know if any of us could unless it was a last resort. When Snape was trying to teach me Occlumency he saw a lot of my memories….and I wanted to curl up and die afterwards. Quite a few were nice memories too, and in there, there weren't any."_

_"Well that _was _the intent," I explain. "He wanted us to see that his life hasn't been so easy. I mean, we've only known him as the spoiled son of an aristocrat."_

_"It definitely worked. Fuck, did you hear what Lucius said to him in Azkaban? That was horrid! Can you imagine if _dad_ said that to us? That we're worthless? No wonder he has daddy issues and no self-esteem." Ginny is shaking her head in amazement. "And all that time, he wanted us to win, too. Shame he didn't just give it up sooner."_

_"Yeah, I guess that's why he didn't want us found out at his house. Must've thought it was doomed at that point. And I know how much pain they felt when we left Malfoy Manor, because I felt Voldemort's anger burn in the scar," Harry covers his forehead instinctively with a palm. "It just makes no sense, some of this. Why would he even come after us in the Room of Requirement then? Did he really want his wand or some sort of proof that he wasn't such a coward?"_

_"Yes. That _is_ it. I do think that he was largely a pain in our sides due to his own shortcomings, but his parents definitely spurred on the hatred," I add._

_Ginny nods._

_"He did lay it on quite thick about how worried he was about his mum, but I suppose if I had one, or if it was _your _mum Gin, any of you really, I'd feel the same way. Too bad his common sense is warped, otherwise he'd have gone to Dumbledore instead of suffering in silence." Harry thinks aloud._

_"I think his mother is the only person he's ever _truly _loved. Because she's the only person who is blind to his flaws, and would give up her life for him…I'm not certain Lucius would. So if she was threatened, no doubt he was thrown into a frenzy that he's never seen or felt before. I mean think about it…his father projected this image of security and power for his whole adolescent life. And then all of a sudden basically out of nowhere, it's destroyed and he's left to fend for himself. He realizes maybe dad isn't the best role model."_

_"You can say that again. Tried to kill me a bunch and all that. Almost ruined our lives." Ginny chuckles half-heartedly at Harry's deadpan tone. Silence fills the room for a moment of thinking._

_"So what….are his actions rendered as moot? Blame it all on Lucius and we forgive him now? Are _you _just going to let it all go, Hermione?" Ron asks me._

_"No…I'm not going to let it 'go'." I tick frustrated. "You seem to think I've just forgotten all about the past 7 years, but I haven't. So long as he's acting towards me the way he's been, I don't see why I should hold it all against him when it's clear that he's been through pain like we have. He knows that I'm angry for certain things, and I need time. Bottom line is he apologized and meant it."_

_"You held it all against me when _I_ apologized…" Ron mumbles. I look away, a bit shamefaced, as he folds his arms._

_Harry clears his throat. "In any case, _I'll_ give him a chance, as I said I would. It's no use for me now to hold a grudge that I don't need anymore. It's just going to be really weird…him being nice. I kind of want him to be an arse to me."_

_"Yeah, he spoke to me with _respect_ last night. What was that about?" Ginny jokes uneasily._

_"I'm serious though," Harry says, raising his eyebrows. "Definitely not ready for chumminess all around, doubt he is used to it at _all_."_

_"Yeah." Ron adds. "I probably won't be holding hands and doling out hugs any time soon. At school, it'll probably get me blacklisted."_

_"Oh god, _school," _Ginny says making a face. "God, everyone knows about you two, don't they? Going to be talking about you behind your back all the time. That must suck."_

_"Thanks, Gin," I say drily. She returns an apologetic grin._

_"Sorry, sorry. Don't worry, we'll back you up when the time comes. Malfoy has more to worry about anyways, he's the one everybody loathes."_

_"Just tell him that if he sticks to us like hot glue, I'll smack him."_

_"_Ron!" _I scold. He just raises his hands defensively._

_"No, Hermione I agree. I doubt he wants to dine with the Gryffindors anyhow, and they him. He needs to make some more friends so he doesn't get obsessed with you," Harry interjects._

_"He's not going to get _obsessed _with me, for Merlin's sake."_

_"You're the only person nice to him, and that's not even on a platonic level. Besides, you're great, a real catch," Ginny says. "He's going to send you nauseating love letters soon, maybe serenade you in the Great Hall…"_

_"Oh shut up," I reply harshly, and Ginny raises her eyebrows, looking taken aback. "Look, it's just, I know I'm nice and everything, but I'm too independent for such a thing. I feel like Draco knows that. I don't like being put on a pedestal as if I'm some vixen…or the smartest, most unreachable girl ever! I'm relatable, right? "_

_"Yes, you're relatable. Sorry…didn't mean to offend you," Ginny says, looking as if she's stifling a laugh._

_"She was giving you a compliment, no need to get angry," Ron adds, looking nauseated at the thought of Draco slobbering over my greatness._

_"I'm not angry….still, you have a point. I suppose I could talk to him about it…all there really is, is Theodore Nott in Slytherin, who apparently is really bigheaded. Nobody else is there that he knows or likes, they all left. His old 'friends' don't talk to him anymore."_

_"Ew, bleh, that reminds me of Pansy. Mental images," Ginny shudders. "Not to pry, but what significance did that last event have for you? I wasn't even paying attention."_

_"Merlin, I don't want to hear this, had quite enough of the fucking…..I'm going to get some food…bloody starving."_

_"I'll join you," Harry agrees with Ron quickly, standing up and practically running out of the room in stride._

_"Boys," Ginny shakes her head._

_I clear my throat. "Yes, quite immature, but I understand….Anyways, when we went out to eat he was explaining to me the way he thought of relationships before and after the war. He found it odd that Pansy even openly discussed her feelings with him, which just shows you how stunted his emotional growth is."_

_My ginger friend nods and smirks in agreement._

_"He wanted, I think, to visually show me that Pansy's not the kind of girl he wants to be with because she is much like his father, essentially. Like everybody in the uppercrust; too concerned about social standing with no room for change of thought. And I am different because I have chosen to chance him, and tried to see him as a person, not a bank or status item."_

_"Huh. Well he's one lucky bugger then," she smiles. "If it means anything to you, I thought he seemed sincere, and I didn't mean to embarrass you by saying you're a great girl. I meant it positively."_

_"I suppose he is lucky," I laugh, blushing. "And I know….I just hate being the centre of attention for this kind of thing, thank you."_

_"Not at all, Hermione, and I know what you mean. Now, want to go rejoin the 'party'? I'm going to try and convince the men to go and be civil towards Malfoy and go get suits together tomorrow."_

_"Yeah, bet that'll go peachy," I say, a new knot forming in my stomach. "I'm sure Draco'll be thrilled."_

_"Malfoy clearly wants them to see his effort made, he's going to try to one-up them now just as boys do."_

_"Yes, you're probably right," I groan. "Alas, let's get this over with. Maybe I just won't even go tomorrow."_

_"No! You have to come! I like Verity, but she's so much older than me, and if she's bringing Ron a friend, she's going to be worried about that situation all night, distracted from me."_

_"Oh, alright. But I don't really fancy dress shopping."_

_"Oh come _on, _you're a girl with a new guy, don't you want to look good for the ferret? He's going to say yes."_

_"Don't call him that!" I giggle. "I do, but I don't want to upset Ron again. Or cause a scene and get in the paper again. I don't mean to sound….vain, like I automatically have paparazzi following my every move. But if we're with Harry…I mean –"_

_"Gosh, Hermione, I don't think you've ever been _vain_. Take some credit for being a good person for once! You've only been a bit stroppy," she winks. "And you_ have_ been in the papers like Ron and Harry, it's a valid concern. You're just too high strung, too worried about pleasing everyone else, and then about the way you come off to everyone too. Just live a little. It's your break for heaven's sake." She smiles at me, and I feel myself relent a little._

_"Now let's go eat, we can discuss fabric and colour of garment afterwards!" She pulls me off the bed with not much grace, and flies down the staircase with vigour. For a really sporty girl, she sure can be well, like Lavender._

_I wish I could get so worked up so quickly like she does._

_I sigh and make my way down the stairs, relief filling me as I realize that everything, at least for a moment, is going to be ok._

_{}_

I let the shower start to run as I clear my head from the groggy memories, wiping the grime away from my eyes, going to brush my teeth as I turn on the tap.

I've just had breakfast. I relaxed and read a few bits of _On the Road_ by Jack Kerouac, one of the books Draco bought me a few days ago, while listening to an old Queen record. I felt very Muggle, sitting leisurely for a good hour, completely engrossed in fiction and waffles with fake maple syrup. It felt really nice.

I think Ginny was right when she said I should give myself a day off, so that's what I'm aiming to do today. I've gone over the events of last night, and now I'm going to forget them.

Harry and Ron finally agreed after an hour of bargaining to meet up with us in Diagon Alley, but _not _to go suit shopping. They said that they'd walk around with Draco 'so long as he isn't a prat.' Obviously, I can make no promises on his part, in fact I have no doubts in my mind he_will_be a prat, but I'm just happy they're going with him.

The only problem is if anybody else from school is there. They could very well be going to Dragonblood tomorrow too, I mean I tried to find the ad in the _Prophet _as soon as I got home yesterday_._ It's not exclusive or anything, just a grand opening.

What if Dean goes? Or Seamus….Cormac…._anyone _really who hates his guts. Which is perhaps 85% of the Hogwarts population. An altercation is the last thing I want, the last thing Draco wants. And Ron and Harry may not stop them because why would they feel obligated?

Maybe Draco will say no to coming. But then….I'd feel bad for going without him to a social gathering filled with drunk people.

_Bah._

I'll figure it out after.

I flail my body around to rid myself of the negative thoughts swirling around and remove my nightshirt.

Opening the shower door, I set myself under the hot spraying water, letting it soothe my skin and wet my hair. Immediately I'm calmer.

I love showers because my mind goes blank. I do automatic, simple tasks like shampooing and conditioning while humming some stupid song under my breath or singing it as loud as I want.

'Look at me I gotta case, of body language.  
Body language,  
body Language – yeah,'

As always in the bathroom, I find myself in a musical trance. But this time, I don't find myself in a mechanical state of routine. As I sing, I find my brain carelessly wandering to a certain blonde boy, picturing his smile and his touch. His lips and his caresses. _Ugh._

Last night I was really turned on. Let's face the facts.

There's a real chance that if this relationship goes somewhere, I'll be in the same situation as Ron and I were, and this time I need to know how to act. Read; not insane.

I know Draco told me to loosen the control-freak aspect of myself, and I've been thinking about it since then. But I don't want to start being sexually active when I don't have any idea of what I like done to me. It's like a grotesque desire for me to find a book on a subject, or at least ask somebody more knowledgeable. I mean, I didn't even know there were spells for birth control! How can I possibly think I'm pre-prepared for it?

And lord, I have no idea what to do with a penis. I mean, what is the right method to giving someone oral stimulation? Or even a hand job?

I don't know, but as of late I certainly want to find out. It's as if Draco turned on a switch I never knew I had previously.

Like Charms and DADA, sex is not something you can merely find a chapter or instructions on, it must be practiced and perfected. Certainly, I wouldn't mind if a one Mr. Malfoy would practice on me such things, but as for myself I am a tad too nervous.

God, I feel hot and bothered. And I definitely know the reason now.

Too put it the Malfoy way; _Fuck, I'm horny._ And I want to be free of this embarrassing agitation.

Maybe I should experiment.

I was lathering myself with a soapy loofa, but I set it down on the rack again and let the water clean my hands as I sit myself down in the tub.

I exhale as I move my fingers to my nether regions, slowly beginning rubbing myself in a slow rhythmic way. My fingers are cold as the sensation starts to flow through me.

Most people say that if you tell them you _don't _masturbate, you're lying. The truth is, I've always found the sensation a bit odd, and I've never been able to get myself worked up enough to get off. I've used a vibrator sure, I bought one when I was 15 and was frustrated about boys on top of school, the peak of my hormonal adolescence.

But I want to do it myself, and know how I like it, because if we get to that point, I want _Draco_ to know how I like it, as no doubt he'll be more adept than me, though still requiring direction.

With that in mind, I stroke my clitoris to see if it feels better than going down my whole length, and after a few moments I feel a jump in my lower body. I concentrate and think about what arouses me; flashes of rugged shoulders, perfect smiles, and kissing lips pass my mind. Hands trailing down my back, holding me tightly, biting my neck.

_"Mm." _Yes, this is bloody good. But I need more focus.

I think only of Draco…and imagine him undressed, but instead of being helpless, he's staring at me with that intensity that unnerves me, eyebrow raised waiting for me.

My moans and groans become more audible, less constrained as I rub myself faster and faster, the sensation building inside of me, waiting to come together and explode. My legs are shaking and I try to keep them still so I can only focus on the sweet sensation of stimulation, but I just _can't _come.

I'd say around 50 percent of this for women is mental. Men are designed to be able to orgasm easily for the sake of procreation. Lucky bastards.

Alright shut up Hermione.

Sound mind, sound body. I need this as if my life depends on it. Clear your head, and don't give up.

...

When the doorbell rings, I've just barely gotten dressed. I'm a bit embarrassed to be honest.

I spent a good hour trying to get myself to come. I couldn't manage to do it in the shower, so I thought perhaps if I laid down it would be more comfortable on the bed, and I could relax more. But every time I was _almost _there, so close, the sensation was just _too _much to take, I was violently shaking, unable to control myself. And since I was the one conducting, I involuntarily made myself stop.

I just don't think I'm a really sensual person. I feel awkward and stroppy, _all the time_. I know I'm just average looking, I constantly feel as if people like Dean only find interest in me because I'm 'famous' thinking I'm more fascinating than they know, which is why it upset me last night when Ginny went on about Draco obsessing over me, as if _any _person would. Ron only was 'obsessed' because he's overprotective, and he truly loves me as a person can unconditionally. He's my loyal _friend_ and he probably confused this from now and when we dated.

Most people think I'm too smart to be sexy.

And I can't seem to get that out of my head.

And now I'm just worked up and have to go see my _boyfriend, _lord, I forgot to tell Ginny privately that he asked me out proper.

Whatever, we'll just be doing schoolwork, hopefully I'll be settled down by tonight.

I walk over; open the door and….there stands a dapper Draco, dressed in another sexy outfit, of course. Black trousers and a navy t-shirt with red stripes under his grey wool coat.

So much for settling down.

I wanted to be stress-less today, maybe a snog session is just what the doctor ordered?

"Hello, beautiful," he says smirking, pecking me on the cheek as he steps inside.

Okay, forget the doctor, I'll write my own prescriptions.

I blush because I'm wearing ratty old leggings and a long white shirt, my hair up in a messy bun; not beauty at its finest.

"Did you have a lovely time discussing my slow draining sanity last night with the Gryffindor crew?" he asks, pushing his hair back with his hands.

"I did not, actually."

He frowns. "Oh really, and why is that?"

"Well, I mean it went fine," I mutter, tangling my hands together in knots. "They're just not looking forward to going back to Hogwarts. Since Harry said he'd be nice, and Ron said he'd…well not hurt you."

"Yes, well neither am I looking forward to the trip back. I _am _however, looking forward to Nott's face when he finds out I snagged you," he winks as he walks over to me and kisses me.

"'_Snagged_ me, huh? Were you planning on it then?" I tease him, and he remains composed as his cheeks fill with pink.

"More like toiling with the idea, dear Hermione. And speaking of plans," he deftly changes the subject, "it's been eating at me all night and morning to know what our resident Weasley girl meant by 'see you tomorrow'. So can you indulge me?"

"Mmm, I suppose so," I reply coyly. "Did you have an alright night after you left?"

"Pretty boring actually," he huffs. "I was feeling vulnerable and ashamed, but when I went home I realized it was barely eight thirty, pretty short visit. So I listened to music, had some wine and put the pensieve back with no fuss. When mommy dearest finally escaped the bedroom I told her that I had a nice day with you."

I frown. "Are you not going to tell her about Andromeda?"

"In due time. I'll let her be happy with Jean for a bit, I can always visit my aunt in secrecy, right? She may be apprehensive as well you know."

"That's true…well, I'm glad you're alright. Want to go sit down?"

"Yes, I _am_ alright. I feel as if the weight upon my chest has been elevated two inches," he chuckles. "And upstairs, perhaps?" he tries, wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"Good, I'm glad you feel better. And if you _insist,"_ I laugh, grabbing his hand to drag him to my room.

When we get there, I'm about to sit on my desk chair when Draco picks me up around my waist and spins me around onto my bed. As I flop I squeal at him to ask what the hell he's doing.

"'Hell', Miss Granger? Naughty, naughty. I want to sit next to you," he smiles, plopping down next to me, and pulling me upright. "So what's the plan?"

Ugh, he's so…._frisky._

"The _plan," _I begin, tapping both palms to my knees, "is that I am meeting Ginny and Verity in Diagon Alley at 3. To go dress hunting."

"_Today_ at 3? _Dress hunting_? What for?" he scrunches his face.

"Tomorrow night, we've all been invited to a grand opening of a club….called Dragonblood. And I was hoping that you'd come with us," I say brightly as possible.

"A _club_?" he pulls a face. "Really, Granger? You think it's a good idea for you three to go to a club? For _me _to step foot in the public spectrum with you all? The _Prophet _will be all over it: 'Draco Malfoy lends his bad influence to the rest of the Golden Trio and takes them out to get wasted!'"

I knew that's what he'd respond with.

"It's _not_ a good idea, actually, I agree with you. But Ginny seems to think I need to relax a bit, and I hate to admit it's probably true. George was personally invited and asked to bring as many people as possible, so he invited us. So why _not_ go for fun and dancing?"

"But you don't drink!" he exclaims.

"So? You _do, _you can enjoy what I don't want."

"But, Hermione, what if we see people we know? What will you do?"

"Introduce you as my boyfriend," I retort frankly, wherein he smiles uncontrollably. "You're being a baby, I thought you were the less reserved one," I smack him lightly on the knee.

"_Ow, _excuse_ me. _I am not less reserved, I just have a better sense of humour than you. And I don't want to go out with all eyes on you. On me. Male or female. I don't want our reps to be further publicized considering the gossipy crowd at old Hogwarts."

I shake my head. "A better sense of humour, huh? Look, Draco, I didn't really want to go in the first place either, but I realized something important. This will be the last time for a _while_ that we could even be together without scrutiny surrounding us all the time. It's also our first time going out without being too awkward, and we get to make a big deal out of it. Harry will be there, remember? And Ron. They'll be on them just as much as us, and apparently famous Quidditch players are coming too," I add for effect.

Draco is searching for words but none come.

He sighs. "Alright, alright."

"Thanks," I smile, and grab his arm, rubbing it. "And by the way, I have a sense of humour."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "I _know _I'm going to regret this."

"Funny, that's what Arthur said when Ginny asked to go."

"Huh, something we can actually agree on," he rolls his eyes. I reach for his hand. "Well what am I here for then? Why didn't you ask me yesterday if I have to leave? Or maybe you knew after I left?"

"I wasn't going to ask you trivial tripe after such a serious occurrence, was I? Look, it'll be fun! And you can come to Diagon Alley with us…Harry and Ron will be there, they promised. You can….walk round or something. Grab a butterbeer."

"And do what? Make chit chat with them, _ugh. _I'd rather eat a bowtruckle," he says dramatically.

"It won't be _that_ bad…"

"I'd rather see you try on dresses," he winks again.

"No, you can't!" I exclaim "It's supposed to be a surprise. Or something. Girl code and all that. And anyways, Ron is getting a date from Verity's friend, so he won't be so mopey."

More sighing. "Like they wanted to hang out with me if they weren't mopey. I dunno, Hermione. I think I may have to kill myself if I'm alone with them."

"You said you wanted to be more civil," I remind him.

"Civil, not friends. We'll hardly get to that point."

"You never know unless you try."

"I guess I won't…_fine_, you win, but you owe me! They think I'm a madman already. Hmm, maybe another free hour of snogging?" he perks his face up as if he's a puppy.

"No deal." Pouting. "But since you _are _trying to make nice…I will snog you _now _for an hour_. Or perhaps three."_

His proximity causing my inhibition to shrink to a minimum, and my hormones at the forefront, I push him back slightly so he's leaning on his elbows and straddle his hips. Pulling his head by the hair up, I'm centimetres from his face.

"R-really?" he asks breathless. I look up and down his body then back into his eyes, running my hands along his chest in an attempt at being alluring.

"Yes, I think so."

I lean in but he beats me to the punch, grabbing one hand onto the back of my calve and pulling me in closer, the other on the back of my head to fiercely kiss me.

The sting in my body is back from this morning, and I waste no time in returning my hands to tugging his hair and up and down his shoulders, his taste almost toxic, his touch creating in me something I didn't realize I could feel, something more potent than what seems normal.

Absolutely lethal.

I wrap my legs around his torso, my arms around his neck, and pull him on top of me.

* * *

Holy Fucking Christ, if Hermione continues to put me in social situations I hate, i'll be the happiest man on the planet.

We made out for nearly the three hours, and I can tell my Gryffidnor minx is begging to be touched in all the right places though she'd hardly admit such a thing. She's so horny.

She kept snaking her hand to my crotch and then decided the bulge in my pants was too daunting, shame. Not complaining though, I got to touch her tits.

And i'm the first one to ever get the privilege.

It feels good.

Everything feels good.

I didn't get to see them, I thought perhaps it would be going too far at first, but god damn I was so turned on by her just taking the reigns and jumping on me. As I flowed my hands under her shirt, I waited for a protest but instead she thrust them onto her hot flesh and nipples; that may have been the sexiest thing that she has done to me thus far. No, actually it was.

Everything feels good.

Next make out session i'm hoping some clothes can come off, but i'd gladly repeat this afternoon a thousand times over.

I can't stop smirking as we enter Diagon Alley through The Leaky Cauldron.

"Oh look, there's Verity and Ginny!"

They're waiting by the entrance as if they're leaving and waves. They smile and wave back, and as we reach them I feel no waiver in my stride.

"Hi," Hermione says cheerily, leaning in to hug them both.

"Hey 'Mione. Draco," Ginny nods in my direction as she returns the embrace.

"Hey," I reply awkwardly, "Ginny, Verity."

"Survived the night then?" Verity says cheekily, raising an eyebrow.

"Just barely." She laughs. I shrug.

"Well Ginny seemed impressed by your performance when I came to pick her up, and George was up in arms over the fact you weren't a douchebag ."

"I suppose that will be tested in its finality today," I reply drily, still unable to wipe the smirk away.

"_Draco," _Hermione nudges me, giving an embarrassed smile.

"You'll be fine darling, just play nice. Don't worry, we drilled into Harry and Ron's heads that if they are a bully we'll beat 'em up," Verity winks at me. "Speaking of which, we're due at the Triple W right now. Let's get a move on." And with that, the two half-strangers walk out the door.

"_Triple W?"_ I whisper to Hermione as she drags me onto the chilly street.

"_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, George's shop. I imagine that's where we're meeting Harry and Ron."_

Oh.

"So how's business going then, Verity?" Hermione asks as we amble down the snow covered stone pathway, avoiding looks in all directions that are just begging for an explanation as to why I would step foot in here with these girls.

"Eh, pretty slow. It always is slow in between major holidays in store, and before summer when the kids are out. It's way more about the shipping orders and expansion nowadays."

"That's good to hear. But you know, I always hear people talking about this thing or another at Hogwarts, George is practically a local legend."

"Yes, you should be as proud of your red headed boy as I am," she clicks her tongue coyly as some old wizard narrows his eyes at me.

Always prepared, I pull a grey toque from my coat pocket and draw it onto my head, hoping that I'll be less recognizable without my stupid platinum hair peeking out in every direction.

"How utterly inconspicuous and totally not obvious you are with your hat," Hermione pokes my side as I roll my eyes.

"Oh shove it, you really think I want more attention garnered than what's been given for only 3 minutes of strolling?"

"Fair enough," she replies, pulling the rim of the hat down over my forehead and poking out her tongue at me. I grab her hanging hand.

"_Don't make me bite that," _I lean in and breathe, hoping for a rouse.

She quivers for a moment but composes herself and shakes her head at me with a look that screams 'don't you fucking dare,' yanking her arm away from me and catching up to her friends.

How adorable.

We make our way past familiar shops and reach the giant purple and orange building I have avoided for 2 years. 'Weasley' and 'success' were not a match I'd have made in a million years, but here they are. The store looks quite interesting actually, tons of items filled in it that I can see through the glass.

We walk in with a tinkle of a bell. There are few people milling about the store, it is a Thursday after all in mid-afternoon. They glance at us for a moment, but most save for a younger couple go back to their business, not recognising Hermione or myself.

"Ah, the fun has arrived!" George yells from somewhere above us. We look up to see the man in a red velvet suit, twirling a joke cane around, which extends then shrinks after every swing. He's standing on the upper floor where dear Ronnie and Potter are too, looking rather miserable.

"Yes it has, you big goof, now get down here."

George jumps gaily down the steps into Verity's embrace, nuzzling her face with his and kissing it. Very cute if you thought public displays of affection romantic. Which I don't.

It just highlights how unromantic I am not, and can't be considering the consequences that would occur.

"Are you going with them then, Georgie? Close the store up for a few hours?"

George scrunches his face to look a tad guilty. "Unfortunately no, I have a few wizards coming in for a meeting, and I hardly think showing up to 'Gone to Lunch' in the window would impress them."

"No, guess not," Verity replies disappointed, a frown forming that doesn't suit her usual smiling face at all.

"Sorry, mate." George says to me indifferently. "Duty calls."

"Gotta do what you must," I reply evenly.

"That be the truth, young master Malfoy. Oi, you two, are you coming down or waiting for a sign? Cause if so, here it is!" George shouts to the dwellers on the second floor.

"Yeah, yeah, calm your trousers."

Weasel and Potter trudge down the stairs deliberately slow.

"Hello then," I remark as they reach us. Weasel rolls his eyes and Potter gives an inaudible 'hey'.

"Er, shall we then?" Hermione begins. "Maybe Verity can show us the dress shop and then you can know where we are?"

When nobody responds, Verity chimes in, "That's perfect! Ron, you can meet your date. Her aunt owns the shop we're going to. There are a few good ones in here, but Raskolnikov's is the best."

"My date?..." Weasel is surprised yet intrigued.

George's face fills with glee, and he splutters. "You mean – you _actually _got some poor soul to go out with Ron! Ha! Hahahaha! What's the lady's name, I'll send her a get well soon card."

"Oh _shush," _Verity replies, shoving him into a wooden beam attached to the stairs. "Her name's Lanka. She's really quite nice, I met her when I attended Beaux batons for a few years of my schooling."

"She-she's _French?" _Weasel asks agog. Oh, here we go.

No more fucking French things or people, s'il vous plait.

"No, she's Russian. From a city called Rostov-On-Don. You'll like her, she is not very stuck up and actually follows Quidditch like you."

I chance a look at Hermione to see if she is affected by that comment, and she's narrowing her eyes, likely trying to figure out if Verity meant that _she _was stuck up and didn't understand Quidditch, or that simply Ron likes girls who aren't fussy and like sports.

It's probably the latter, but I feel the overwhelming urge to say aloud that she is perfectly humble and not inept, and I just can't for fear of making myself seem foolish.

Weasel is also looking at her, gauging her emotions. So he says, "eh, she probably will be nice, we'll see."

"You can say thanks, Ron, you know it won't kill you," Ginny shakes her head as she goes to open the door.

"Oh yeah….thanks."

"No problem, Ron. Trust me, you'll love her. Bye Georgie Pordgie," Verity kisses George on the cheek, he unembarrassed by his nickname, and we all wave bye as we head back onto the street.

We hightail it to this large shop in the new district that replaced Knockturn Alley. It's grandiose and candy red in both its exterior and interior, and it so happens to be only a few paces short of Dragonblood, which is a black building that looms at the end of the cul de sac where Borgin and Burkes used to be.

The company I'm with are all ahead of me, discussing the complete renovation of it, and how fancy it looks. How excited they are to go into it tomorrow. It's very trivial stuff, but they speak so easily to one another, a foreign concept to me.

An epiphany hits me as we're about to head on in to the store, that I've _rarely_ felt this way. So unsure of my words, so unsure of how to behave, so _scared _of appearing rigid, enclosed, and yet not knowing how to project myself so I end up being both regardless.

I only know how to woo people in public spaces, and I see that Hermione can navigate herself properly around _friends. _Watching them all so happy, I start to think that she knows when to laugh, when to add a comment and when to let somebody speak.

But I realize right now that she isn't _planning_ anything_. _This is all natural, no script or parent guiding her. The sincerity keeps me baffled, I wonder how somebody can simply let others in often without a second thought.

With Hermione I find it so easy to share feelings, but we're often alone. It feels special, as if it's a magical connection. And it's not.

It isn't at all, that's my sad insight come to light. I'm just another relationship to her.

It's not as if I don't matter, but there are plenty that do just as much and more than me. Because I have so seldom people in my life, I guess I didn't fully grasp this concept until now.

I feel oddly melancholy and drained as I hear Hermione call my name into the store.

"You alright?" she asks concerned grabbing me, we the last going in.

"Yeah…fine," I reply distantly.

"Don't be nervous…I know you'll all get along eventually." That's the funny thing. She thinks it'll all work out.

In her mind, we'll all be one happy family with equal care and affection but that can't happen. Someone will be neglected.

I just hope it's not me.

"Yeah, we will," I say, looking into her shining eyes. She smiles, and I'm glad that that's all it takes to soothe her, a 'sincere' stare.

She stands on tiptoes and pecks me quickly before turning around and dragging me to the circle of people.

As I get beside Ginny, discarding my hat out of politeness, I notice what everyone is taking a looksies at, or whom, should I say.

A very statuesque girl with shiny jet black hair, fair skin, and crystal blue eyes is standing at the front desk. She is long and lithe, with a nice clear complexion, but has evident curves that are outlined by her tight aqua mini-dress that matches her irises.

This is obviously Lanka.

Ginny I notice, is completely unfazed by the presence of the girl, even though Gingerhead is practically incoherent trying to introduce himself and Potter is _obviously _avoiding her gaze for fear of being accused of checking her out.

Verity is content, but if you're friends with a hot girl, usually you're hot too. This holds true in this case.

Ginny is quite attractive, I'll admit just this once, with her toned athletic body and long mane of hair, never needing make up.

And Hermione? We all know I think she's stunning.

So why does she look so insecure, I wonder? Her eyes are scanning Ron and Lanka's actions back and forth; uneasily she tries to smile as Lanka comes to give her a greeting hug with her, 'Hallo Hermione!' and 'Oh, you must be Draco,' in her Eastern European accent.

I can tell just by looking at Lanka, twirling her hair round her fingers, that she understands she has obvious sex appeal. Which is _not _sexy to me.

Hermione doesn't realize that her humble nature is what turns me the fuck on. She doesn't need to elevate herself by dressing up, she doesn't see the need in it. She just needs to open her mouth and talk to me, show me how intelligent she is.

It's kind of funny how she is so vehement about her own opinions, but when it comes to something she can be 'graded' on, like essays or physical attractiveness she turns into a worrisome little girl.

"I am zo excited for tomorrow, yes? It will be fun to go with you all!" Lanka squeaks. "I have never been to a British club before," she grabs a hold of Verity`s arm who smiles.

"How long have you been in London for, Lanka?" Ginny asks warmly.

"Just for a few weeks now. I am trying to get a job at ze Ministry of Magic, but it is rather hard, you know? So currently I reside wiz my Baba, and I help her out. You will know her as Valeria, she owns ze store."

"Yes, and I am so excited that my Lanka is _finally _doing somezing besides interviews!"

Out from behind a curtain that I assume shields an office comes a grand, large Russian woman of about 55, wearing gaudy jewelry and over the top make up with a neon green dress. Her grey hair is piled high on her head, and while her outfit is a train wreck she looks inviting and pleasant, quite unlike Marie and Gaston did.

"So, you lovely ladies are looking for dresses today, hmm?"

Hermione and Ginny nod shyly, while Verity goes over to hug Valeria.

"How are you my babushka?" Verity says laughing, hugging Lanka's grandma. Valeria simply beams.

"Oh, just wonderful, petit Verity! And you?"

"Fantastic, living right around the corner actually."

"She has the met the most handsome, successful man baba," Lanka exclaims, raising an eyebrow. "George."

"Ohhh, I knew you would, such a catch!"

"You flatter me," Verity blushes. "He's busy now, but perhaps later you can meet him. But if you don't mind my asking, I thought that Lanka's aunt ran this shop, what are you doing here?"

"My daughter _does _normally runs this shop, but right now she is abroad! When I go back to Russia, you should visit again, it was such fun."

"I'd love to!"

"You're all welcome to, as well!" She motions to us. "First I should probably know you, however," she adds laughing.

She walks over to Hermione and Harry, patting them gently on the head.

"You are Hermione, I know this," she says taking her hand. "Great things I have heard about you, young miss. So smart."

"Yes, I am. Nice to meet you," Granger says embarrassed. "Thank you."

"And you are Harry Potter! Blessed that I am, to have known you!" She continues moving to Potter.

"That's very kind of you," he replies with a small smile. "Thanks."

"No, thank _you_! And you, your friend, Ronald is it?" she clutches Ron's cheeks. "So tall! So _many_ freckles. A rarity in our town. You boys are so handsome."

"You can call me Ron," Weasel says, looking down at the floor, a violent shade of red.

"Ron is my date for tomorrow," Lanka says excitedly, although I'd be gagging. She winks at him and he looks like if he grew any hotter he'd explode. "He is George's brother, Verity's druzhok, her boyfriend."

"Oh, now! Must be a beautiful family! _Ah!" _she practically shrieks as she reaches Ginny. "Your sister, Ron?" He shakes his head in confirmation.

"My name is Ginny," she says chuckling.

"You are simply stunning! Oh, look at you," she fusses. Everyone laughs except for Hermione, whose confidence wanes with every comment somebody else gets for being cute. "And you are her boyfriend?"

Oh, she's talking to me.

"No, no, _Harry _is," Ginny says stifling a _rude _grimace, and grabbing his hand.

"My apologies, dear. What a couple you make! But you, you look familiar, you are from England?" she addresses me. Ugh, I don't want to look recognizable.

"Er…yes. Draco," I say putting my hand out, avoiding my surname. "I can't say that I remember if we've ever met."

"You look like you are from ze North, simply, my darling," she tinkles. "You go to Moscow and everybody looks like you. Tall, thin, blonde hair, light eyes. Well dressed, attractive. I was merely curious," she grins.

I can't help but smirk.

"Thank you for that immense compliment," I reply. Potter is frowning with Weasel, clearly unhappy she called me out on attractiveness and not them.

"Surely you have a girlfriend? Doesn't she need a dress too?" She asks, and immediately I look to Hermione. Valeria moves her gaze to Granger, and the light bulb goes off.

"Ah, but of course, everyone is in pairs! I'm sorry dears, I wouldn't have put you together immediately," she shrugs, putting up her hands.

"It's fine, we've only just er, gotten together," I say awkwardly.

"Yes, we're not standing together even so…" Hermione adds a bit tersely.

Verity puts a hand to her forehead.

Silence follows.

That was clearly a sore spot of contention.

"So, shall we get on with the dresses?" Valeria asks, clapping her hands. "I closed the store for the day, you're my only customers."

"Oh wow, that's so generous, thanks," Ginny tries overenthusiastically.

"Yes it will be so fun, let's go!" Lanka squeals, unaware of how uncomfortable her British guests are.

"You boys can go to a bar or something, yes? Get something to eat? You must not see. Shoo, shoo!" Valeria pesters us, and Harry quickly pecks Ginny, and waves to everyone, while Weasel is unsure of what action to take so he mumbles a goodbye.

I walk over and hug Hermione, taking my goddamn time, nobody tells me what to do. I notice everyone is watching me, but I don't care. I kiss her on the head.

"I'll see you later, have fun."

Her worry seems to calm for a moment and she melts into a smile. "You too, _try not to be a prat,"_ she whispers giggling.

The smirk returns. "_Never."_

She smacks my arm before walking over to the girls and disappearing into the main shop room.

Before I leave, I gesticulate to Valeria to meet me silently in the corner.

Need to clear up a few things.


	38. Sexy & Scotch

**_So join me for a drink boys_**  
**_We gonna make a big noise_**  
**_So don't worry 'bout tomorrow_**  
**_Take it today_**  
**_Forget about the cheque we'll get hell to pay_**

**_- _Have a Drink on Me, AC/DC**

* * *

What the hell am I supposed to do now, exactly?

Instant dread at the pit of my stomach forms as the glass door behind me shuts, a finality that means I cannot dare return inside the dress shop. So I take a few steps forwards.

Potter and Weasley are walking along back into High Street pretending like I don't exist, periodically checking to see if I'm still following them.

But I don't care, I'm more concerned Hermione is okay in there. Lanka seemed nice enough, and Ginny and Verity are the pep talk kind of ladies, not the bitchy backhanded compliment type. Still, she didn't look too psyched to be trying on dresses in front of them. Again, no clue why.

True, had I not known any girl I'd probably go for Lanka or Verity based on looks alone. But Hermione is very pretty, in an understated subtle way that drives me up the wall. Whenever she decides to look a bit _more, _she's the best in the room.

Fuck, probably should've told her that. Said she was gorgeous or something a second ago before leaving, boost that confidence…but then she'd probably think I was doing it to make her feel better, that I felt obligated to say such a thing and not cause she's actually deserving of it.

_Blah._

I'll do damage control when I get back.

Women.

The dynamic duo are now turning into a shop… Quality Quidditch Supplies, huh?

The nerve.

How _could_ they, the stupid, blithering, conniving….._bastards._

My blood starts to boil and I feel myself seething. They _have_ to be aware that Slytherin Quidditch is cancelled, and yet they'd have the _gall_ to, to…But no, surely they wouldn't have done that on purpose? Surely they wouldn't sink so low as to go in here to spite me?

_Of course they would._

I would do it, after all.

I don't want to go in here. I don't want to _be _here, not with them.

And they don't either.

"Do you insist on coming in here then?" I ask pointedly, quite clearly offended.

They turn around, Potter confused, Weasley with sudden recognition of his actions on his face.

"No, we just came up to the door to _stare _at it," the fatuous ginger replies like I'm daft.

"Is there a problem, _Draco?" _Potter asks me, as mock politely as possible.

"Not at all, _Harry. _Merely, I clearly have no fucking need to go in here seeing as Quidditch is off the table for the year for me." Weasley looks at me in plain disgust and then puts a hand dramatically to his chest.

"Oh Malfoy, I'm so _sorry _we don't always go to places or do things just to please you. What terrible enemies we've been."

I feel myself flush pink. "That isn't what I _meant, _and you know it. I don't expect you to cater to my every whim, but if we're supposed to be civil why go somewhere that distinctly irritates the other party involved here?"

"What, are we supposed to keep track of what the Fabulous Ferret likes and dislikes?" Weasley retorts back. What a grouchy arsehole.

"It isn't our fault that the Slytherin's were too cowardly to come back this year to make a team, is it?" Potter adds. "Just come in for god's sake. We _all_ like Quidditch, I thought maybe it would be a common ground to begin on. Would you rather sit at a table grasping at straws of a conversation that wouldn't go anywhere _or_ go in there?"

_Neither, _I think, but I don't say it aloud.

"I'm just a bit more than peeved that I don't get to be Seeker this year, probably Captain. You're going to be talking incessantly about tactics, what will I have to add to that conversation? And really, why be around supplies I can likely buy through a catalogue?"

"Piss off then," Weasley concedes, throwing his hands out like it's the most obvious action to take and turning to the entrance. "Wait out here."

"Look, do you even want me to _try_ to be around you, or should I just leave?" I ask frankly to the two. They've inched closer and closer to the store, just about to yank open the door.

I fold my arms as they slowly spin around again, with grimaces on their faces.

"Of _course_ we don't want you around, Malfoy. We agreed to have you around because you _will _be no matter what at school. This is apparently supposed to make us dip our toes to the idea of being friendly instead of plunging into it," Potter says, twisting a proverbial knife into my gut.

"Yeah, what did you think would happen after last night? That everything would magically be alright? No, it takes fucking time, just like it takes time to completely destroy a relationship like you did with us since we were kids. I punched you in the face, does that clue you in to how I resent this whole ordeal? Just because we understand you better doesn't mean we like you. What have you offered us to take kindly to?"

I try to process this information but can't.

I basically did _all_ the shit I did last night for these clowns, and yeah, it's nice if Hermione can see me in a better light, but damn. Not even worth it.

"Dipping your toes to the idea, huh? If you resent me so much, why did you agree at all? I didn't think everything would be just peachy keen, but I thought you might appreciate an effort when it's made. Maybe I should just steer clear of you both to save you the _great _trouble of being amicable towards me. Maybe I'll just make a schedule with Hermione and have her visit me twice a week at school so you don't have to deal with me like the burden I am."

They look at me with wide eyes, like they did when I exploded at them on the Hogwarts Express first day of term.

"I'll be at the Leaky Cauldron, if you're not there in 2 hours I'm going back to the dress shop," I spit, turning to walk away.

But Potter surprises me with a sigh and then "Malfoy, wait."

I turn around expectantly. "Yes?"

"Don't you be all snarky, you stupid –"

"Ron, shut it for a second," Potter says placing his palm out. "Just come in with us Malfoy, okay? The only way we'll be able to get through this is if we get better acquainted, if we all cooperate. And then maybe once I get to know you, I won't loathe you and Hermione together. Too much anyways…"

"And what if I loathe you?" I point out as nicely as possible. "What happens if you _do_ get to know me and decide I'm scum?"

"I can't do anything, can I? That's up to Hermione to decide. If you'd rather be a raging prat that won't try then stay away from us. You'll only isolate her into two realms she has to accommodate to."

Smarter than I thought, Potter. Bringing Granger into the mix to make it more do or die.

Potter can see me calculating this in my mind, and he ticks unable to hide his frustration. "I don't understand why you're even trying to argue this with us, we've only been gone from the girls for a minute and you're challenging our decisions already. I'm not out to get you, okay? If I was, I could have done a _whole _lot worse, couldn't I? Don't you want a good report back to HQ?"

"Fine, fine, you win. Let's go,"

I motion him inside, sighing, regretting this immediately.

Weasley rolls his eyes and goes in, not before whispering to Potter, "_Some prize."_

I inhale deeply, trying to calm my insides before entering the gates of hell.

* * *

"Oh, Hermione, zis dress I sink would look _fabulous _on you! A bit short, yes, you can pull zat off zough because you are as well. You have nice long legs." Lanka has pulled down a merlot red slip dress made of silk and handed it to me. Valeria is out to lunch with some of her British friends, leaving her granddaughter to tend to us.

I guess my insecurity is just showing through, because she's been extra nice to me.

It's bad enough that I feel inadequate when I'm top of the class, physically I'm not at the top of Darwin's natural selection for 'Beautiful Woman' award. So it makes my confidence dip lower than humanly possible seeing my ex-boyfriend turn to jelly at the mere sight of her, even if it shouldn't bother me. Ron certainly never fawned on me the way he did with Lanka, even Harry who has an absolute 10 girlfriend had to look away to avoid gaping at her. Draco seemed fairly undeterred by her, but I imagine he has a wide range of high class gorgeous ladies to choose from had appearance been his criterion for a girlfriend.

She's extremely pleasant in general I'll admit, which is why more than anything I feel so jealous. If she were mean, maybe I'd feel justified. But then, Verity wouldn't hang out with somebody negative or catty would she? She is much more like a Ginny than a Lavender.

Perhaps being in the company of such dimes, I feel like a nickel.

"Thanks," I respond finally, smiling as I take it from her even though I don't like the colour.

_Why is the colour bad? What do _you_ know about clothes? Clearly she has some idea of what to do, maybe you could play nice, Hermione. She can help you look stunning for Draco; not like she's plotting against you._

My sane mind reels with rationality I should likely listen to. It must be really hard being attractive _and _kind, it's a combo that makes people hate you I imagine. Perhaps that's why Draco never won Mr. Congeniality, if he was as nice as he was handsome, all the eligible guys would probably axe murder him for attracting all the ladies.

"You alright, 'Mione?" Ginny butts in, speaking softly into my ear next to a rack of evening gowns.

The place is completely filled to the brim with dresses of all occasions and styles. From 1700 English brocade gowns, Regency era dresses of Grecian-style white flowing silk, to American flapper dresses. It's really interesting to be honest, and I'd love to know how Lanka's aunt came across these, but I'm a bit preoccupied in finding a dress to balance and flaunt my good features without being whoreish, whatever that means.

"Fine, why?" I ask, leafing through sequined mini-dresses I could never pull off.

"You just seem…tense." I stop rifling and look to the left at Ginny, who looks amused mingled with worry.

I sigh. "Okay, so,, I feel like an elephant stepped into a room full of swans," I admit. Ginny falters a bit.

"Verity, come over here for a second," she calls, and beckons with her hand. Oh, no.

Verity pats Lanka gently on the shoulder and skips over to us, "_Yee-eess, _my darlings?"

"Hermione has a case of the shopping blues."

"I do _not, _I just –"

"Uh uh, shush, you just informed me you think you're not as sexy and gorgeous as we all clearly are, you need a pep talk," Ginny says, shutting my mouth with her palm.

"_Oh, _and why do you think you're not worthy of lavish affections, and the title of 'beautiful'?" Verity is looking at me with concern, a face I've rarely seen on her usually happy body.

"It's not that….okay, maybe a tad. You both, and Lanka, are just a cut above me in terms of appearance…" I say meekly.

"_Not _true," Verity dismisses me.

"Then sex appeal at least? I have no experience or business really being the one to, how do I put this, make the boys stare? Whereas you two need to just put on something nice and pop, there you go."

Ginny laughs. "Hermione, I think you fail to remember that yes, it took a while for Ron to notice you were female, but _once _he did, he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world, and was insanely jealous of Krum. Viktor may not have liked you because of your looks at first, but likely he saw something there or he wouldn't have asked you to the ball. Cormac liked you too, remember?"

I sigh again. "Viktor asked me because he liked that I didn't follow him round, he's gay remember? Cormac only said yes to the date to add another notch in his tally."

"_Hermione_," Verity exclaims happily scandalized.

"What! It's true. All that was school-girl stuff, anyways. It's not like I was the one everyone lusted after based on appeal alone,_ cough cough_ Ginny. And both of you have had _real _romance."

"Ron wasn't real?" Ginny prods, a bit upset I can tell by my trained eye.

"He was, I do love him still. Just not….not the way Harry loves you, George loves you. And I've _never _had somebody feast their eyes on me the way Ron did to Lanka over there, he certainly never did it to me."

"So essentially you're feeling inadequate mingled with jealousy , hmm?"

"Jealous about what?" comes an accented voice from beside Verity. Lanka has come into our conversation, holding Verity's elbow like an old friend does.

"I don't feel particularly attractive today," I muse. Lanka frowns.

"Oh, are you nervous about not selecting a dress zat's good enough? We'll find one, I promise. Draco will be so delighted, you can count on it!" she winks at me. I decide not to divulge her about the fact that she is part of my envy because she is being so considerate.

"Thanks, Lanka," I reply, and I see that Verity is really pleased I didn't get a bit more tight-lipped and rigid at her. It's not her fault she won the genetic lottery, after all.

"What's your main concern, Hermione? About ze dress?"

"Well…" I begin, and Ginny gives me a look that says 'go on, be friendly,'. "I've no idea what to look for in a dress besides the fact that it fits. I want to look nice tomorrow, but should I show boobs? Legs? Both? What constitutes as trashy? Should it be tight or loose? What are Wizarding clubs even like? I've never been to a Muggle one, but it's full of drunk girls and guys from what I hear."

"There are a few trashy girls and guys, but there is at _any_ social gathering. The point of going to a club is having a good time, but _not _drinking to the excess. You know, talking to friends, strangers, dancing too. We've been to a Muggle club, Lanka and I, and the emphasis is on all those things, but also more on getting the patrons to drink a lot for money. And at least from my experience, magical drinks are _far _stronger than Muggle ones."

"Really? What makes them different?"

"Just their make, their ingredients. Elf-made or goblin-made wine is especially potent, they only make it for wizards, they have their own brews for themselves. And firewhiskey is really only supposed to be drunk to warm you up, but alas, everyone has their poison of choice, and inebriation leads to carelessness. And that's why there's sort of a strictness in establishments that can get into deep trouble for serving to under-17s as I like to call them."

"Huh," Ginny says. "I wonder why they'd be more strict."

"I guess it's because the community is so much smaller, you know? Most people know each other, families know each other, businesses are rivals blah lah lah. And therefore there isn't the same urgency to get singles ready to mingle or get people drunker so they have a better time talking to strangers or having you know, casual sex," Verity shrugs. "Plus if you get a bad rap everyone knows it."

"Yes, I do feel a bit safer at Wizard clubs comparably because if ze bartender sees you are too drunk he'll cut you off, and plenty of clubs cut you off at 5. Saves you from crazy drunk men."

It seems a bit medieval, a bit too Prohibition-era to myself, I'll admit, to put a regulation on how much one can drink, especially in a _club. _But seeing as I won't be drinking much, if anything, it doesn't really bother me.

"Interesting," Ginny notes. "Gonna order something strong then," she giggles. Verity smiles and shakes her head.

"So back to dresses, it's formal but not black tie," Verity finishes answering my question.

"Sort of. More like _sexier _formal dress," Lanka corrects, wiggling her eyebrows. "You won't exactly see ball gowns or long flowing dresses below ze calves."

"Yeah, but all the same, I'm so making the boys wear at least a blazer. They have to look as good as us."

"Good luck, Harry _hates _dressing up, even though I tell him I'd ravish him in the bathroom if he does," Ginny says coyly.

"Okay, ew," I gag, and Lanka laughs.

"So you've been friends with him long?" She asks me, genuinely interested.

"Yes, since we got to Hogwarts. I consider him my best friend, well my _male _one. It's odd, we didn't get along, Ron, Harry and I. Thought I was to stroppy. Then they saved me from a mountain troll in first year and I lied to save them from detention. It's just one of those weird things I suppose," I shrug. "We've been through everything really. Harry and I experienced this new magical life together, Ron helped us get used to it. Hogwarts seems like such a dream compared to regular Muggle life in the summer, it's so surreal. I think I'd be lost here without them."

"Ah so sweet. You are muggle-born zen?"

"Yes."

"Me too!" she smiles the widest I've seen her, and for some reason this makes me like her more, the fact she wants to relate to me based on that. "I'll tell you, it was difficult getting into Beauxbatons, ze stupid snobby French witches didn't want me to go zere, but my baba is a witch. And she's pretty well known back in Russia, so why not me?"

"Hermione is the 'Brightest Witch of the Age', so people best be reconsidering their definition of what makes a good wizard," Ginny adds, wherein I blush.

"That's the spirit!" Verity says, putting a fist in the air. "Girl power."

Lanka chuckles again, a girly throaty laugh.

"And you were all in Gryffindor? In Beauxbatons we did not have houses. When I moved to London, I found it interesting zat adults carried pride in their school selections after zey graduated zere."

"Yeah, everyone is really haughty about it," Verity shrugs. "It's also a familial thing you know?"

"Personally, though I'd never admit it to my family, I really did care which house I'm in, and still do. Mum would have cardiac arrest if I were in say, Hufflepuff."

"Yes, it's drilled into our heads to be quite a big deal," I say, "And I suppose it is. It basically tells us at an adolescent age what kind of person we are. I'm happy I was in Gryffindor, but I would've been happy in Ravenclaw."

"You majorly helped to save the wizarding world, if you were in Ravenclaw everyone would've said it was wrong," Ginny says prodding me to tease me.

_"_Makes sense," I brush her off, not bothering anymore to comment about how everyone had a part, because it's been said a million times. "However, I always said a little house unity couldn't hurt, haven't I?"

"Mmhm, and just how much have you done to unify the rival houses, huh?" Verity winks at me. "Slytherin and Gryffindor have the biggest one after all."

"I don't think Ginny would like to know given my partner of choice," I stutter.

"That means you _have _done something! Oh, come _on, _it's not like you're exclusive, you won't even tell us?" She slaps me playfully.

"Yeah, I don't mind. You just said it's as revolting to think about Harry when I tell you stuff. So spill."

"Well, fine. Alright. We became exclusive as of yesterday," I gulp. Verity's mouth opens wide.

"Oh my god! You move fast, girl. I'm proud of you." I turn deeper scarlet and Ginny gapes at me.

"He _is_ pretty cute, if you don't mind me saying so," Lanka adds.

"I don't…don't look at me like that, Ginny!"

"It's Malfoy though, Draco, whatever. Lanka, you have to understand that he used to be the biggest asshole of all time, snide and purist. Teased her, Harry and Ron mercilessly, and his dad is a giant piece of work. It's a great big shock that he likes her, let alone convinced 'Mione that he was worth her time. But he did earn it a bit, and so I haven't beat him to a pulp yet."

I'm glad she left out the part where I was tortured by his aunt. God, our relationship is so weird, it's so unnatural. No wonder people are surprised and disgusted.

"Ah, but ze bad ones are always the ones we want to tame. And control?" she winks at me.

"Tame, no. All we've done is snog! And erm, well I touched his chest." Verity's face becomes totally devilish.

"Oh my god, I totally forgot! You saw him naked already didn't you?" Ginny asks, grimacing.

"WHAT?" Verity asks amazed.

"God, Harry is so bad at keeping secrets," I feel my face flush scarlet from my neck to my ears. _Oh, _that's right, he touched my boobs today….gonna leave that one out.

"Actually it was Ron, he wanted to use it as blackmail, but decided against it, because it would reflect oddly on him if he was ogling some other guy's manhood." Typical Ron.

"Wait, what happened? Clarify," Verity commands.

I explain to her the ordeal'; she nods intently pauses for a second and then; "Is he packing it?"

"Verity_!" _I laugh appalled. "I only saw for a few seconds, and since I have nothing to compare it to-"

"Oh, he totally is," Verity squeals.

"Who would've thought – ewww," Ginny shudders.

"Is his chest nice?" Verity prods, pumping my arm up and down like a child.

"Geez, I have no idea if he's 'packing it', I've been too sacred to find out! Do _not_ spread anything, at least not yet. Please," I stress. "Anyways, his chest has a bunch of scars from when Harry hexed him, actually. That was a few years ago. I find them fascinating. But other than that, he's rather thin," I shrug. "I do like that little 'v' of the pelvis muscle, you know what I mean? I mean, Ron had it, but he has a pretty hefty appetite so –"

"Oh god, the 'v' is such a turn on! Thank the stars, George plays Quidditch," she interrupts. "So Hermione, has he seen any of you?"

I know she's curious, but I don't want her to tell her….oh sod it.

"I may have taken my shirt off to change," I test out, and she opens her jaw. "But not my bra. I just wanted to show him I wasn't a prude, I guess, but I suppose I was just teasing him, seeing as all we basically did Sunday was make out," I blurt before it's too late.

"All day long, huh? Girl, you're surprising me every minute."

"Do you want to bang the ferret?" Ginny asks seriously. Lanka snorts at 'ferret' but says nothing while I contemplate that answer.

"I – well, yes. Yes, I do," I decide finally, opting for the truth.

"Oh, well we have to make him work for it," Lanka says. "Going to doll you up nicely and see him squirm."

"I don't want to be _mean. _I'm not ready anyhow. We've _just _made it official, I just….it's a chemical thing. Draco feels it too, he told me so. We have a great sexual connection and it's really irksome because I want to wait."

"Wait for what? You're 18! If Ron had had that, you probably would've, right?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I don't trust Draco yet, I have really great conversations, and he's a good kisser," I note, "which is liekly why I want more. But I still find it a bit hard to be completely open with him, the way he has been with me, you know?"

"So are you going to wait for 'I love you'?" This from Ginny. I can tell she's a bit upset about Ron and I not having the 'spark', but she's also a good friend who wouldn't hold it against me I hope.

"I don't know….I don't know if I can wait that long, honestly. But not tomorrow, not right now." I state firmly.

"Good for you," Verity pats my back. "It's nice to know what you want."

I nod, and Ginny adds, "Yes, and that being said, let's go find a dress! Boy talk tomorrow when we're getting ready, yes?"

"Yes! You all are coming over, we'll do makeup at my place, we're having pre-drinks. We can inform the boys later, George already said it was cool. Now, allons-y!"

Verity races to the back of the store again, Lanka following suit, giggling. Ginny grabs my arm.

"You know, I'm not upset anymore about you and Ron fizzling, this way we'll always be friends," she smiles kindly, reading my mind. "I do feel a bit sad we won't be sisters, however, so now you need to help me find the perfect slut-outfit. I want Harry to want to eat me alive tomorrow," she says frankly. "Make his coming out worth it."

"Okay," I laugh, wishing I had the guts to be so upfront. "And what would a slut-dress entail?"

"Short skirt, shows off my butt, and tries to make my boobs look existent."

"Got it. And what should I look for?" I ask helplessly as Ginny stands back with a finger to her chin, appraising me.

"Something mid-thigh, that shows off your boobies. Tasteful but not overly so. Maybe a deep-v. Get something dark, Malfoy will like that."

"You really think I can pull of 'sexy'?" I ask skeptically.

"Yes!" she bats my hand. "You've been stuck in books too long. Remember Malfoy came to _you. _He likes _you,_ obviously this started as physical attraction. And then he decided you were amazing enough to risk being banished by mummy-dearest from the aristocracy. You seem so intimidated by him when he is the one everyone despises, he is clearly in awe if you. He should be grovelling at your feet," she winks wickedly.

This idea seeps into my brain, and I realize that I never thought about it that way. She's right, _he_ kissed_ me. _He confessed _his_ attraction to _me. _I feel my confidence-bar pulling up a little higher, so I'm smiling as I start rifling through the racks.

* * *

"So Quidditch World Cup is next year, right? And it's in..."

"Sweden. In Stockholm, the capitol," Weasley answers Potter's stupid question as they look at riding gloves for about the millionth time.

The shopkeeper Willy keeps glaring daggers at me for gracing his beautiful shop, and I'm starting to get really uncomfortable.

"We're going to go, right? We _have _to go."

"Well…if I have enough yeah, I mean England was actually doing alright this season so they have a chance of getting it."

"Mate, don't worry, I'll cover you, it's really not a big-"

"No, no you will not. I'll find a way…" Weasley says, turning red round the ears.

Potter ticks frustrated as he picks up a golden snitch replica, "Ron, what's the big deal? I owe you for a lifetime of help, alright? And it's not like we have to stay there or anything, we could just Apparate back home so we don't have to pay for a room."

"Maybe they'll let us in for free, defeating Voldemort and all that," Weasley continues, ignoring his friend.

I wonder what that must feel like, being poor. I get why Weasley is upset about it, I mean, I'd hate it if somebody _had _to pay for me because I couldn't. If it was just a 'I'll get it this time, you get it next', it wouldn't be a big deal. I think it's a pride thing; a power thing.

I like being able to take care of people, after all I told Valeria to put all the dresses bought today on my bill. To me, it's not a problem, and the girls will appreciate it.

Well, they better.

The two walk past me leaning against a free wall, just waiting. They glance at me, and frown all the way to the display beside me of trading cards.

"Are you getting anything, then?" I ask a bit snidely. _Or was this a big waste of time._

"Why? Bored? We told you you could gladly leave if you were so uninterested."

"Well, Weasley, I decided to stick around to try and be civil, to disregard your _rude c_omments, but yes I'm bored. I don't need a new broom, nor new equipment as I said."

"We have still this half of the store, so just sit tight and then _maybe_ we'll go somewhere you want."

"But only maybe," Weasley adds unnecessarily.

With that they walk away from me, and I wait.

Two girls enter the store with their Mum. When they see me, immediately Mama Matriarch decides I'm too dangerous to put her kids around, and steers them around and back out.

Willy is now physically angry, basically pointing me out of the shop for existing without saying a single word, so I leave, not wanting to start a scene.

By the time the other two come out, what feels like 65 years, they leave empty handed retreating to the street.

I'm already pissed off when they begin talking to me. "Why are you out here? You said you'd wait, we were looking for you."

"The shopkeeper kicked me out," I say matter-of-factly, unfazed. "So what do you want to do then? We still have more than an hour."

They pause, contemplating me, unsure of what to do with me like I'm a fussy toddler.

"Why'd he kick you out?"

"Because my very being offends him, a family walked out when they saw me. I was merely standing there, behaving." Weasley looks at me as if I'd have the guts to lie to him.

Potter starts to talk then stops.

"What, don't believe me?"

"No, I do. I'm just thinking about where to go next."

"Someplace low key. People keep gawping at you and sneering at me, it's pretty tiring," I yawn. "They should at least have the guts to come and say something."

"Yes, because we all really need more attention," Weasley notes sarcastically.

"Like what then, a _bar_? You know that drinking too much isn't good right, despite what you may think. Tomorrow, you better tone it down; Hermione doesn't drink at all," Potter explains like I'm a moron.

I take a deep sigh. Fucking plebeians.

"Yes, I'm _aware. _A beer or two, however, even a butterbeer, is not going to kill you. And frankly, you two probably need it after putting up with _me_ the whole day."

They look at each other confused, wondering why I'd use self-deprecating humour to convince them of something.

"I'm going to wet my whistle then, if you aren't. I don't fancy going to more shops with shopkeeper glares following me around, accusing me of terrorist activities and nonsense. I'm going to the Galleon Gate, it's right beside Gringott's. Join me if you must."

I turn to saunter away, hands in my pocket, and the idiotic two surprise me by crunching along behind me.

"_What's the Galleon Gate?" _I hear Potter whisper to Weasel.

"_Dunno, never heard of it."_

Again, fucking plebeians.

I refrain from making any comments as we stroll down the lane to the other end of Diagon Alley to the secluded small building to the right of the bank.

It's little known, this pub. Mostly a high society hangout, but even then, I am a bit apprehensive to be going in. In France, the threat of Voldemort wasn't that great (not yet anyways), and since father and mommy dearest go to all the hotspots they've been excused. Thus, I am excused.

But in England, I'm still scum so I'm slightly shaking and wary as I open the door handle.

I meet the eyes of the host standing at the front, not somebody recognize; a man little older than us with a handlebar moustache .

"Identification," He asks lazily. I pull out my wand and hand it to him.

He places it on the standard obsidian stone pedestal. If it smokes under the touch of the wand, you're underage. It' a pretty hard system to beat, manufacturing wands that make you appear 17+ can get you locked up in Azkaban. The only other way is to borrow an older person's wand.

To which most reply upon getting asked, 'kindly fuck off.' Ain't nobody using _my _wand.

Anyways, since nothing happens when my wand is checked, he lets me go in and I'm pleased to see that it's poorly lit as always. I survey the surroundings and see that besides a ministry witch with a flight assistant and two old warlocks, it's empty. 4 PM is not a popular bar time.

I slide into a corner booth to see that Potter and Weasley have followed me, they occupy the other side together.

"So what's so fancy and amazing about this place, then?" Weasley asks me already bored, flipping open the drink menu that is always placed in the middle of the table.

"I never said it was fancy or amazing, actually. It's just little-known, because the regular masses don't come in here, which is precisely why I _do."_

"Seems a little pretentious, if you ask me," Weasley continues belittling me as he scans the prices. "Seriously, a galleon for a pint – that's ridiculous."

"_Nobody _did _ask you," _I grumble to myself. "It's on me, Weasel. I have a tab, go ahead and drown yourself."

"I'm not taking your charity."

"Nor am I," Potter agrees. "No offense is meant, honestly. I just feel like it's some ploy to try and get us to like you more, paying our way, and that's not fair to you to make that assumption."

Huh.

"Fair enough, Potter. Well, what do you want? I'll get it, there are no waitresses here."

"Butterbeer. Don't need anything else," he tosses some change at me.

Lame.

I look to Weasley.

"Nothing, I need to save my money for tomorrow," he says harshly.

Geez. I walk over to the bar and order a scotch on the rock for myself, and Potter's brew. The bartender is new, a pretty redhead, and she smiles at me as she hands me the drinks. I feel eyes on me, obviously they've spotted her too. They're just waiting for me to put a gun in my mouth so they can pull the trigger for me.

I feel oddly intimidated, the power they hold as my lady's friends is immense. As if I should just buckle out and ignore the courteous employee standing before me. But I can't let them get to me. What are they going to do? Tell Hermione I said 'hello' to a somebody doing their job? No, fuck _that._

"Thanks," I finally say, tossing her a galleon tip. Because why the hell not? Weasley can tell Hermoine anything he wants, he's just going to look like a douche out to get me.

"How generous," she nods, flicking up an eyebrow. "Please, come back any time."

I grin, feeling a bit complemented if I'm honest. Nobody has been properly warmed to me for a long time and Valeria and this girl both have been a bit flirtatious if I'm not mistaken. On top of that, memories of this morning flood back to me. Granger's face and her touch, her kisses, her body; her _hornyness. _

No, I'm not a leper anymore. Thank Merlin.

As I sit back down, I'm still smiling at the thoughts and Weasley childishly remarks "So the bartender is cute, hmm?" along with an accusatory glare.

"Relax, Weasel, she works here," I say tossing the beer to Potter.

"But you were obviously flirting."

"No, I was being polite," I chuckle at his idiocy and swig my delicious drink. Damn I needed this.

"I watched your body language," Weasley counters, as if that has some sort of merit in an argument.

"Unlike yourself, not every breathing female I come across is viewed as a sex object or a puzzle to be figured out, sometimes they're just _girls." _

"What are you saying?" He asks angrily. "That I objectify them?"

_Yes, actually. _Spot on, although I don't say that of course.

"I'm saying you need to chill out. You're looking for reasons to continually hate me and be suspicious of me when I'm not doing anything wrong. Hate me for what I've already done, that's justified."

Weasley is confused at that statement, perhaps he thought I'd be grovelling for forgiveness (not bloody likely) instead of giving him permission.

"But if we hate you for what you've done, wouldn't we have reason to suspect you on these grounds?" Potter asks seriously, his butterbeer already half-drained. Seems as if his outward tolerance is higher than mine.

"Yes, but Weaselbee hates me because I'm dating his ex-girlfriend and is using my past to shield the fact."

"No, I hate you for both, actually," he replies simply. "I'll try to get along for Hermione's sake, but doesn't mean I ever have to like you."

Potter looks extremely awkward. And I imagine I would feel like that too, bein the in-between.

I'm actually glad he hasn't stepped in yet because I love pushing Weasley's buttons as much as possible.

"Ah, okay, glad we can be honest. So _honestly_, you haven`t been trying at all frankly. You`ve been hostile."

"It's been a few days, gimme a break."

"Alright, fine. But can I ask you a favour?" I drain the glass.

Potter's eyes go wide, Weasley narrows his gaze at me; "Maybe… what is it?"

"Tomorrow night is the last night I have to spend with Granger before going back to school. I know you despise me and are going to be on Malfoy-Watch, but for the love of all thing's sacred, _please _just let me be. Leave me alone and don't try to sabotage, even if you plan to again."

He looks me in the face for the first time, studying me.

"Look, I understand that this is painful, for both of you. I know you fucking hate me, and I know you want me out of your life. When I get back to our lovely institution, everyone will be spitting on me for corrupting the prim and proper witch they know and love. I'm not going to get to be close to her at all, and you _know _it. And I can deal with that, I can, but if you are trying to fuck me over on top of that… That's your choice, but give me tomorrow. Please. Just _consider _that I've tried to show you something about myself that I wouldn't have dared to a year ago. Consider that I'm trying to change."

Weasley takes no stock of what I've said, but Potter I see, is actually affected by my words. He looks at his empty glass, green eyes full of emotion.

"Wait, you don't care if we try to fuck you over?"

"Of _course _I do. But there's nothing I can do, is there?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you convince her enough that she's 'making a mistake' she's going to pick you over me."

"Of course she would. You've only been seeing her for less than a week, and you're already acting like you've been together for years. It's creepy."

"I like her a lot, Weasley. It's unfamiliar territory," I reply defensively, surprising myself. "You have the upper hand and I know it."

"Well, er, good." Weasley says pathetically to me, looking at me strangely.

"Yeah…I'm getting another scotch, want a top up Potter?" He nods still in a daze and I don't even bother to ask the Weasel lest he lecture me about his poverty. It's not like I offered to pay for World Cup tickets, I offered him a fucking drink.

"'Nother round?" the bar maiden asks chuckling. "Stiff of conversation, are you?"

I look to the clock misunderstanding her and realize _good god; _It's been only 10 minutes. T_en._ I still have another hour and a half.

I roll my eyes, pay for the drinks and decide to 'grasp at straws', have a little fun to make gingey squirm.

"So Lanka is pretty attractive huh, Weasel? What'd you think?"

Potter snaps to attention for a moment as dear Ronald flushes red, embarrassed, ready to defend.

"Could barely say hello, you must like her."

"That's none of your bloody business, frankly. Worry about Hermione like you said you wanted to, and I'll worry about _my _date."

Damn, the boys can't even play. So fucking mind-numbingly _ludicrous._

"What colour dress do you think Ginny's going to get then, Potter? Bets?" He grimaces at me.

"_Don't_ call her Ginny, it's weird."

"Fine, shall I resort to _Weaselette? _Cause that's so much better uh?" He gives me a look.

"Just – I don't know…"

"Well come on then, I'm trying to make a conversation. Girls! Don't blokes talk about women? I bet you anything Lanka will don a blue dress, Verity something red, _your girlfriend _purple or green, and Hermione…I'm honestly stumped."

"Probably blue like she did at the Yule Ball," Weasley blurts before he can stop himself.

"Maybe white?" Potter adds. "I don't know, she's not exactly the most adventurous when it comes to clothes, is she? She's never been too bothered."

"Yeah, except for on _dates," _Weasley mutters. Dear lord, I can only pray to Krishna that she would wear something naughty and dark tomorrow like she did for Dean, but alas, I suspect Potter is right. She certainly has a knack at school and in everyday dressing like a vestal virgin.

Yet, tomorrow is a special occasion…I'm not getting my hopes up, and besides, she could wear the frilliest pink monstrosity and I'd still likely want to fuck her.

"D'you think Lanka's been with a lot of blokes?" Weasley asks specifically to Potter. That's about the dumbest, most obvious questions in history. "I mean, speaking of dates…what does she expect, do you reckon? I have nice enough clothes I guess, but should I like, get her flowers or something?"

"How about we _all _agree on getting them one flower, all different for creativity, so nobody outshines the other?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"George would think it's a good idea."

"Don't call him George. And _no _he wouldn't."

"Fine, I'm getting Hermione a dozen roses and you'll all look like assholes."

Potter shakes his head and rubs his temple. "You two are like feuding toddlers. Just appreciate that we have attractive dates and let's get a move on."

"No, it's good is we establish these kinds of things, isn't it? It's levelling the playing field so your lady isn't jealous for no reason."

"Yeah well, nobody is going to be jealous of you. Trust me."

'_Trust me'. _What a dick.

"I'm getting another drink."

Just one more hour, _one more._

* * *

"OOH! You've found ze dresses alright my ladies?" Valeria comes floating in back from her lunch date, looking merry and bright. "Everyone satisfied?"

"_Yes, _oh my goodness, baba. We tried on about a million each, but we got zem all right," Lanka winks at us.

I'm actually _exhausted, _I guess I didn't realize how tiring trying on lots of clothes were, I must have put on at least 30.

They're all hanging up in the back in covers, and tomorrow we're going to retrieve them so the boys don't have any clue on what they look like. We're going to Verity's house for pre-drinks so we're getting ready there where the boys will meet us. Verity and Lanka are really into this secret surprise idea, and their enthusiasm has rubbed a bit off on me. I'm actually really looking forward to dress up and seeing Draco react to the selection we collectively made, because it's going to be a bit of a shock (Ginny had to push me for about an hour).

"Great! Fantastic. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night. _Now, _about the payment…" Valeria edges in, clapping her hands.

"Oh, George I think is paying for Ginny's, he'll be here any minute. And I – "

"Oh no, your friend Draco has already paid for all of them, I was merely telling you because I was under the impression that he hadn't told you."

"Wait, _what?" _Ginny blurts out, a little ticked.

_God. _Draco, _why?_

"That's so generous!" Lanka says, unsure if she should be cheery or not, trying to break any forming tension.

"It is, _too _much so. Look, and no offense to you Hermione, but I don't want him to pay for my dress. I appreciate the gesture, I know why he's doing it, but we barely know the kid and it's just- I know George is going to take it personally, even if he won't say anything. He and the other guys will view it as trying to gain control."

"No, I know. I think he wanted to try to do something nice, it's just the way he's used to. _We're_ just not used to it. Having somebody so er, money un-conscious in the circle."

"But that's really mean if we reject it, isn't it? After all, to him it's probably like picking up the tab at an outing rather than outlandishly appearing to outshine the other boys. He was being _nice_. We should encourage it, no?" Verity says, and I'm so happy she's willing to defend him.

"Well then, what do we do?"

"You know what, I'll talk to George, explain it. If he's fine with it, then we'll let it go, yes? If he's emasculated for whatever reason, he can pay for Ginny's. I have no problem with taking handouts, I'm freaking broke, man."

"Pay for Ginny's what?" comes the voice of George, who managed to enter the main showroom without us hearing him enter.

"Georgie! Come here, we'll explain, how was the meeting?" She ushers him off to the side just as the other boys make it on in. It's exactly 5:30. Their punctuality worries me, actually. It means they were waiting to get back, or maybe I'm just doubting the progress.

But I realize I'm right as Draco walks straight over to me and hugs me, he's extremely warm. The other two walk to Ginny and Lanka, separate from us.

"_Good lord_, _never again will I be able to endure that," _he whispers in my ear.

"Was it really that bad?" I ask a bit amused, rubbing his back.

"No, it could've been much worse actually. I just got plenty of glares and stares, and then we went to a pub and it was awkward as all hell," he explains quietly. "I've had about 4 glasses of scotch, so I'm really sorry."

"_You drank?" _

"Don't worry, Potter had some butterbeer, Weasley just refused to let me pay for him. Disagreements all round, love."

"_Love?_ Bit out of character, no?_" _

"Sorry," he shrugs, kissing me once, and I can definitely taste the bitter whiskey scent. He leans in again, surprising me, and says, "_I can't wait to go home with you._"

"I can't wait for tomorrow night," I say, hoping to rouse him as much as he does me.

"Oh, and why is that?" he smiles devilishly.

"I think you'll like my dress decision," I say vaguely.

"You're teasing me, Granger," he replies, stepping back and scolding me with a pointed finger.

"And for a good reason!" Verity butts in, coming over with George. "The dress is fab."

She nods to me, signalling that George has come to an agreement. I look to him, and he smiles' everything is alright. Once again I'm thankful for having such great friends, understanding that Draco is just _trying _to not be a giant pain in the arse, but actually sweet for once.

"Good to hear. May I ask what colour palette so I can match?" George snorts, and Verity punches him lightly.

"Actually, _no. _Just wear something you like, it's not like it's black tie. Trust me when I say you will be floored when we get done with this one, Draco."

Draco smirks, and turns from her attention to mine, surveying me like I'm prey and he's hungry.

"I simply can't wait."


	39. Hot Girl Disguises

_**Coolin' by day then at night working up a sweat.**_  
_**C'mon girls, let's go show the guys that we know,**_  
_**How to become number one in a hot party show.**_  
_**Now push it- push it real good.**_

**- Push it, Salt-N-Pepa**

* * *

"Come inside girl, it's _freezing _outside," Verity greets me as she ushers me into the deliciously warm store. "So how was your night last night, darling? Draco seemed pretty ecstatic to get you home," she continues a little coquettishly as we walk up the stairs to the apartment.

"Oh, fine," I blush. "We mostly just did schoolwork, since I _insisted; _he wanted to do other things."

"Of course," she chuckles. "And did you?"

"Yeah, we did." I grin at the memory. "We worked on our music project a bit, I don't know if you heard about it since Ginny is also a part of it – "

"Yes, she explained it, sounded interesting. Go on," she pushes me, smiling. I laugh.

"So gossipy, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Well, Draco had a bit too much to drink with the boys, and I was peeved, but I'm pretty bossy about school and he likes to have silly squabbles about the answers. But because he was a bit loopy, he didn't argue with me."

"God forbid," she says sarcastically, opening the door to the house. "Hopefully he doesn't get too out of control tonight."

_Me neither, _I think to myself.  
"He won't, it was a coping mechanism. He has a bit of a problem from what I gather with depression…but he's working on it," I assure her.

"Good. Unpopular opinion, but I actually like Draco. He's straight-forward and witty, but to people he's been mean to, that's the combination for the arsehole label."

"Yes, Verity, you have no idea of his previous idiocy, how very perceptive you are," comes George's voice from the kitchen. He walks over to where we've just entered, wearing a suit jacket and jeans.

"George, you're looking dapper, but you're violating the Girl Code by being here while we get ready," I scold him lightly.

He smiles at me, and leans in to kiss Verity on the cheek. "Ahh, you think you got me Hermione, but I'm actually leaving for late lunch with the boys. Got ready beforehand. I'll come back in 2 hours, and hopefully everyone will be here ready to go! Thank you, by the way."

"How proactive, and you're welcome. Who're you seeing?"

"Oliver, Lee ,and Percy for some odd reason. He wanted to come," he shrugs, keeping a grimace off his face.

I chuckle. "That sounds nice, though."

"Yes. It _is_ nice to do things with Percy you know," Verity says, like she's spoken the words a thousand times before. "He needs social interaction more than anyone."

"Too true, love, too true. I can only be a good influence," he says jokingly. "Anyways, best be off, see you ladies later. Ginny just turned off the shower, by the way Verity, she's waiting for a robe I think. And Lanka is awaiting your return to make-up land," he finishes, opening the door.

"Ooh, yeah, bad timing. I'll go get her one, see you later George." She scampers off to the linen closet as a sudden thought hits me.

I turn around, "Hey George." I exit into the stairwell to George standing curious on the stairs.

"Yes?"

"Sorry, I know you're in a hurry, just. About yesterday, with the whole dresses ordeal– I just wanted to thank you, you know, for not being…"

"A dick?" he tries, a glint in his eye. "Look, I get what Malfoy is trying, Hermione. I understand why he did it, and I let it slide because his intentions for once were not to outshine the opponent. If Harry and Ron had offered to pay, it would've been a different story, but because they didn't, I didn't see it as a cause for concern. In any case, I'm going to have a quick word about it to the ferret tonight, just to tell him why it might be bad idea in the future. Yeah?"

I sigh with relief. "Yes, thank you. It's just bad enough that I have to deal with the judgement, can't even imagine what he feels like all the time."

"Up until this year, probably fine," he smirks. "Growing a conscience makes you aware of emotion. Anyways, gotta jet, bye Hermione."

"Bye!"

Thank god for small favours. George has an amazing temper compared to Ron.

He waves as I try to discreetly return inside, going to find Verity's bedroom.

"I hear some intense snogging when on last night," Lanka's sing-songy voice calls as I peek into the right place. Ginny is sitting at a vanity brushing her wet hair in a satin white robe, Lanka is wearing a red one, hair straightened, face bright.

"No, not intense," I giggle nervously, catching Ginny's slightly reproachful look.

"Verity, you lied! _You lied_!" Lanka iterates, pounding the pillows.

"God, are you ever giddy. You're always like this right before we go out," Verity shakes her head, coming out of the bathroom armed with what looks like curlers and more makeup supplies.

"Yes, but I haven't been out vith a boy in such a long time. Training consumed my life. Which is vhy I need juicy secrets poured onto me about your love lives," she says dramatically, sprawling down on George and Verity's big four-poster.

"Oi, sit up or you'll ruin your hair," Verity snaps her fingers and commands. Lanka sticks out her tongue.

"So _bossy."_

"Yes, but effective! I get into full on bitch mode when I have a task at hand," she says, taking Ginny's hair and beginning to braid it in sections.

"Harry and I did it in the garden shed last night," Ginny says drily, and I practically trip while I sit down next to Lanka.

"Oh my god!" Lanka squeals. "Zat is amazing."

"You wanted a juicy story. There ya go," she explains, and like always, I'm in awe of how much she is _not _embarrassed of.

"Why the need for secrecy?" Verity asks, while I try to shove images of a naked Harry from my head.

"Mum had a word with us about making noise, which was awkward enough if you know how mortified Harry can get. I mean, the very fact she lets us room together means she is seriously in awe of my boyfriend. So Harry said we should respect that, which I know we should. But after half an hour of nothing before trying to sleep, I said 'screw this' and dragged him out there," she shrugs.

"You are _bad. _I never pictured Harry being able to keep up with feisty old you," Verity reveals, and I visibly gag.

"Oh shaddup, you want to bang the ferret. The fact there's photo evidence of you kissing is bad enough," Ginny teases me.

"Sorry, just….Harry will always be my _brotherly_ friend, and ew. Just ew," I shudder.

"Once you've started fucking, love, you're going to want to talk about it. And who're you going to go to when nobody else wants to hear about Malfoy, hmmm?"

"Me!" Lanka volunteers, shoving her hand in the air. "I vant to know everything. Like vhy you didn't have sexy times last night?"

"We were doing work. And then because Draco kept trying to kiss me through the whole night, I well, made out with him before he left. It got pretty intense. Unfortunately, we were on the couch, and Crookshanks has yet to take a liking to him, so he got angry, hissed and scratched him. Killed the mood." Ginny stifles a chuckle, and Lanka pulls a face.

"Ugh, silly animals. Vell, you get to see him in someting attractive tonight, perhaps it vill make up for yesterday."

"I hope so, it's not the first time it's happened, but he didn't seem too upset about it."

"Even if he is, we're going to curl your hair with these," Verity throws the curlers up in the air and catches them, "doll you up and get you in that dress and he's going to be so swept up in your beauty he'll never get mad again."

I laugh, "Okay, well if you think you can achieve beautiful out of my average look, please."

"Sweetie, we already told you you're beautiful, were just going to make it more stated. Now, I see you painted your nails a pretty mint shade, and I have these platforms in almost that colour over in the closet, so put 'em on!"

I inspect my nails, remembering last night. I talked to Andrea on the phone after Draco left and explained what was happening. Of course she was psyched that I was going out glammed up, and gave me little reminders. Besides doing my nails, shaving, moisturizing and grooming my brows the topic of shoes never came up

"Merlin, I haven't worn heels since Bill's wedding. I'll try my best though. Size 7?" Verity nods.

I get up to grab the shoes, rifling and admiring the collection Verity has. They're only about three inches, thank god, I can definitely handle that, and they are very cute. The actual heel is thick, and there is a nice little bow on the backside of the shoes.

I slip them on, and they fit, not too tight thankfully.

"It'll get you used to it. Now your butt is high up, legs are long, damn, sexification is beginning."

"What does sexy mean, anyways?" I ask as I try out my runway walk between the vanity and the bathroom.

"First and foremost, confidence I think," Ginny says, contemplating her hair in the mirror.

"Ooh, ohh pick me!" Lanka says. "Verity and I were talking about zis last night."

"Oh, yes. There's different types we decided. Different types," Verity agrees, spinning Ginny round and beginning to apply some foundation.

"Like?" Ginny inquires, closing her eyes for face primer.

"Okay, so Lanka here has the obvious natural sex appeal, though she refuses to admit it. She has that look that makes the boys go 'dayum' upon first glance."

"Ugh, but zat is so _boring_," she huffs.

"You can dangle them by the pinky, get over it," Verity says dismissively. "Next we have Ginny here, who has the girl next door vibe. She can play Quidditch, isn't afraid to get dirty, mm double entendre, plus she's beautiful. One of the boys, but better?"

"I like that," Ginny nods pleased. "And what about you, Verity? What's your type?"

"Hm…."

"Verity is how you say, _sassy. _She's clever and funny, isn't afraid to say vat's on her mind and if you can make a boy laugh….I mean no wonder George loves you, look at him."

"Ooh, you're making me blush, Lanka," Verity laughs. "Yeah, it's odd. We like people who are like us. I mean, Harry obviously likes Ginny because she's not prissy or fretful, like him. She enjoys what he does for hobbies, that's really important, you can support each other. And George and I both find humour in everything, we're pretty invested in this business, we get each other, you know?"

I feel a nagging urge to ask them about my new beau. I keep forgetting that they aren't Harry or Ron. I don't have to tiptoe around boys any longer. I should be able to ask them anything.

"What do you think about Draco and I? Seriously. I know it's a very new thing, but I don't really think he's like me," I ask, scrunching my face. "Is that bad?"

"Hermione, before we delve into that; you're the last sexy type. And I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but yours is probably the most alluring. You are the shy, smart bookworm. You're the kind of girl guys fantasize about getting with because they know you have high standards and comprehend bullshit, you intimidate them. It would be like the ultimate conquest. Which is why Draco wants you, it's obvious. Not that he thinks you're just something to hit and quit. But he's used to having Slytherin girls fawn over him, and he likely ate it up. But when everyone turned their back because he was involved in all this crap, he realizes he needs somebody who isn't stupid and so judgemental. Ie; you. You are determined and know what you want, I think he sees that as admirable, not threatening. Maybe he finally feels like working for someone's affections is worthwhile."

"Deep." Ginny muses.

"You really are perceptive," I say, "I guess that sounds plausible."

"Yes, and I'll continue my psychoanalysis by saying you are a bit like him, to answer your question. The biggest difference is you're warmer than he is due to nurturing, or whatever. Clearly he's never had real friends, and you have great ones that hate his guts and can try to bear with him anyways. I mean, I don't know him that well, but you both act calculated, you aren't too emotional unless need be and are still interesting and fun. And then again, you're obviously intelligent, and have an air that you are a bit better in that respect over most people, and I don't mean that in a bad way. If you get in healthy arguments, that's what you need, you love it. You need someone to challenge you, you need somebody to push you into thinking harder. Someone to talk about silly laws with."

"Yeah, but not an insufferable amount," I reply, trying to stifle a grin, because she's 100% right. I love defending my case.

"You liar," Ginny narrows her eyes at me. "You love it. You like having debate and conversation."

"Yeah, I do. It's just -"

"Just what?" Verity pauses fixing Ginny's hair for a moment.

"I'm scared of how much I like him in such a short span. I don't know what it is about him that drives me so crazy. Like, I was head over heels for Ron and then we got together and it simply wasn't very exciting."

"Well, Ron's interests include fawning over pretty girls, chicken wings, the Chudley Canons, and chess. I mean, he's not stupid, far from it, but he's not exactly academic is he?" Ginny begins. "As I said, I wish you were together, but I'd rather you be happy. Ron's just very simple and easy to please. He was just able to calm you down and level you out, but you don't need that 24/7, you need challenging and let's face it, he would be too scared to piss you off."

Lanka laughs. "Stop it, don't ruin him for me now. I like how cutely embarrassed he was meeting me. I hope you are not upset about it, Hermione? I did not realize you had been togezer."

"Oh yeah, sorry," Ginny blushes. "He's just so easy to target."

"I think what it is, is low self-esteem. He's a great kid, but he doesn't realize it because Harry is so famous. He needs somebody who's going to fawn all over him, you know, to humour his abilities, fuck his brains out. I mean, Lanka, you know you're the Queen of flattery, no comment about sex."

"I am _both, _I assure you," Lanka gives us a cheeky grin.

"And you don't seem the exaggerating type, right, Hermione? And you're not that lovey-dovey are you?"

"Well, no, I guess not. And no, I don't care Lanka, I only would if you were mean. But one question, does that mean I'm cold? Do I really not come off as caring?"

"No, no, not _cold. _You're just reserved. I guess I meant it in a pucblic sense. Behind closed doors, you're clearly physically passionate. But I can't see you getting' rowdy on the dance floor. And same with Draco. Oh lord, that would be hilarious."

"No, it would be revolting," Ginny counters. "And if you _ever _touch his man parts, obscenely grind on him, or make out with him with hands and open mouths in my presence, I swear to Merlin, I will cut your tongue off."

"Says the girl who fucks in sheds!" I yell, a little taken aback at her warning. I guess I'm just sick of everyone tearing Draco a new one when he's not around.

"Oh my god! _Swearing_, Hermione?" Verity says shocked.

"Sorry, got a bit riled up there. I mean, I've seen you two go at it, it's not like It's any better," I retort a bit humiliated I let that slip.

Ginny has her eyes wide right now, a half-smile on her mouth, which looks funny as only one lip has lipstick. "I'm sorry if I insulted you, I just, I still can't get past Malfoy's inner ugliness, even if it's evaporated."

"I know, I know, it's fine. I didn't mean to be so rude." She shakes her head giggling.

"No, it's _fiery _I like it!" Verity cheers. "Honesty is good, remember?"

"Yes, but that was out of line."

"No, Hermione, I was being honest, so were you," Ginny reassures me, reaching out a hand and clamping my forearm. "And anyways, we'll forget about it by the time the night's over," she winks.

"Are you drinking then, love?"

"You know, I was really unsure about it, I contemplated it all day today," I state.

"And?"

"I think I'll go for it. One drink here and one drink out. I'm not _afraid _of getting intoxicated, I just don't like the idea of getting out of control, you know?"

"Yes, but we'll _all _be like that, the whole universe will be. It's going to be so fun!" Lanka exclaims.

"Yeah, don't worry, Hermione, we'll take care of you if you get a bit, hmm, sloppy?" Ginny raises her eyebrows. "It'll be fun!"

"You know it! I'm almost done here with Ginny, then we can move on to you, kay. We 'ave zese curlers and zen I 'ave le makeup, and ve vill make you lewk like a supere model!" She rings out in a fake Parisian accent.

"But first, a bit of Samuel Payne's Night Owl Spray. This makes your makeup stay on all night, no hot mess looks for us, and also I have his hairspray which makes curls stay plump. Close your eyes." Ginny squeezes her eyes shut and Verity spritzes her face. "Gin, I'm going to leave those braids in for now and then we'll let them out nice and crinkly when we finish the prep work, yes?"

"Whatever you say, master. I like my hair straight usually, and I only put on mascara and lip balm normally so this is a whole new world." She stands up off the chair and joins Lanka.

"And now," Verity claps her hands and turns towards me, still fumbling in too high shoes, "It's _your _turn, mademoiselle."

* * *

"Draco, are you _sure_ this is a good idea?" my mother asks me, leaning in my room for the hundredth time as I fix my hair in the mirror.

"Nope. But I'm going anyways." I decide that I'm going to deeply part it, but not gel it down, let it kind of…..floof?

Is floof a word?

"But why go if it's not a good idea? What if Harry Potter or his friends tries something?"

"They won't, Hermione will kill them."

Maybe I should part it a little more to the left? No that's too far, that looks too pretentious.

"But love, what if you get in the papers again?"

I outwardly sigh.

"Mother, I don't care. As long as it doesn't hurt you in any way, then it's fine. Hermione really wanted me to go, since at school I'll probably be branded as public enemy #1, not like I wasn't already. It's one of the last nights I get to spend with her."

I stop messing with my hair and look at her standing in the doorway; her expression has immediately softened.

"Well…okay. Just please be careful and promise me you won't drink too much. You don't need your reputation slandered any further or fall back into old habits?" She's really concerned, isn't she. I just extremely dislike being treated as if I'm some child.

"I won't drink too much, mother. I don't feel so melancholy when I have people to talk to. And I actually have somebody to watch out for tonight."

"Oh, _Draco," _Before I have time to move, mother has wrapped her arms around me, squishing my ribs and messing up my jacket.

"Mother, _please_." She's trapped my hands to my side, so I awkwardly pat her back by wiggling my wrist against it.

"_So responsible, you are. So caring," _she practically sobs. Good god.

"Not really, it's the right thing to do, yeah?"

"Yes," she agrees, stroking my _just _finished hair with her hand. "I love you, darling, you're growing up."

"Mother, you're being emotional," I smirk, unable to keep my laughter in. "I love you, too."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm just so glad you're not moping around anymore," she moves back and stares at me, smiling.

"Me too, mother. Trust me, it's going to stay that way. I think I'd better go soon, though. They said to get there round 8, and it's already a quarter past."

"Of course. It's tacky to be fashionably late nowadays. Now let's have a look. Stand up straight."

I shake my head and step back, fixing my blazer. I decided to wear dark grey slacks, a forest green t-shirt, with a three button black blazer that has dragon leather sleeves. I think I look good.

"Yes, I approve; very put together. Would you like a tie?"

"No, it's more casual, but thanks." I grab my wand and wallet off the dresser and put them in my pocket. I wrap a scarf round my neck, and grab my coat.

"Are you coming home tonight, then?" she tries to ask non-chalantly, but I can tell she disproves of me staying over. I myself have been wondering the answer to this the entire afternoon.

My heart and my dick want to get drunk and horny and go back to Hermione's. I fucking love intoxicated making out (and sex related things obviously).

But realistically, whether Hermione drinks at all, I don't want anyone messing with her, and I have to remain tipsy or less to be aware of everything around me.

"I don't know, to be honest. I think our hosts for the evening said everyone could crash at their house, but I'd be uncomfortable. So, I'll be home if that ends up being the case, otherwise I'm going to get Hermione home safe and stay with her because she's alone…if that's okay with you." I add.

She is struggling between being authoritative and commending my chivalry.  
"_Sigh, _yes it's alright. Just don't go making bad choices. You don't want to deal with a pregnancy scare."

Lord, I love my mother, but I _really_ hope that Granger never has to meet her again, because damn, she'd humiliate me to death.

And anyways, sleeping with her would not be a bad choice.  
Last night we only got to snog for 10 minutes until that mangy cat attacked me again. All, well, tonight will be different I hope.

"I'll be courteous, don't worry mother." I say seriously, though inside I'm cringing. "We've only been dating for what, a week?"

"Yes, but boys will be boys, and girls, even the headstrong ones, can't always resist handsome, charming ones like yourself." She gives me a look and a small smile.

I smirk again. "Is that what happened with you and father, then?"

Hurt flickers across her face for a moment. "I didn't mean to bring it up to harm you, I was merely curious. Sorry," I murmur, realizing that was an idiotic thing to say.

"I understand, Draco. And yes, to answer your question, I suppose it is. I mean, when I was younger I knew there was a pool of bachelors I was 'supposed' to be going for. But I really did fall for him like any normal person does. Of course we went to school together, but he's older. I met him properly when he graduated. Andromeda had been in his year. We all were invited to this manor, actually, and I suppose I caught his eye, as he found me across the room, standing by myself awkwardly with my wine, and he talked to me. We ended up chatting for the whole evening. And then he wrote to me often, it went from there. We got married almost immediately after I left school."

I picture my father as a young man with his never timid drawl, towering over her, leaning in so she feels like the most important girl in the room, hand lightly touching my mother's arm as she becomes continually charmed by his witty banter. This image makes me very sad; it'll never be rectified.

"Were you happy?" I can't stand to look her in the eye as I ask this.

"I was, Draco. Don't think for a second that we were unhappy all the time. Lucius just made the choice he was expected to make when he drabbled with the Death Eaters, and it was the wrong one. He knew I opposed it, and he knew what the consequences were but ignored it for the opportunity for more power. And I loved him, a part of me always will, but he'll be paying for that mistake forever."

Though that revelation is grim, it's good knowing that at least their relationship started out of love. If Lucius Malfoy, who made all the mistakes a man could make out of hidden fear, can make somebody fall in love and be in love, there's still hope for me. I don't want to feel like a bad guy any more, I don't want to feel guilty. I know feeling remorse is _good _because it means I'm experiencing emotions, that I'm not a huge sod anymore. But it's still painful.

"And will I?"

It's an innocent question, but I suppose it's loaded. She smiles sadly at me, shaking her head. "I know the world seems ever so unfair, but you're still young, and the things you were forced into too fresh in your peers' minds. Give it time.

Oddly, this makes me feel relief. I walk over to the door, and embrace her one last time.

"I'll see you later, okay? Seeing Jean later?"

"Yes, we're having dinner at home, may walk in the garden."

"Sounds nice. Well, bye." She leans in to kiss my cheek, and waves to me as I walk to the fireplace in front of my bed.

"Love you, Draco."

"Love you too," I wave back as I grab the floo powder and then articulate, "Diagon Alley!"

After the short uncomfortable ride to the Leaky Cauldron, I brush myself off and hurry to the outside trying to make up for my lapse in punctuality, feeling the brisk cold upon my cheeks. It's _bloody _freezing, actually.

I quicken my pace and make the short walk to George's store, knocking on the entrance three times, lie Hermione instructed.

After a few seconds of trembling in negative degree weather, George pops his head in the window frame, and lets me inside.

"Tsk, tsk, Malfoy," he greets me, tapping his watch. "A half hour late, are we?"

I'm about to go off on him when I realize he's teasing me. God, I can't get used to 'teasing' , Slytherin's don't do lighthearted insults.

"Yes, well, you know me. I have to make a dramatic entrance," I reply monotone. Luckily I achieve a laugh, and he ushers me inside.

I'm surprised by his attire, in that it's actually decent. He has those jean things on, a dark indigo, and his blazer is noticeably tailored, a navy blue.

"Your surprise is upstairs waiting for you, been anxiously anticipating your arrival," he raises his eyebrows and begins to amble upwards.

"My _surprise?" _

"Yes, the ladies look fabulous, old chap, if I do say so myself. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Verity. Though, and don't take offence, your lady is the biggest shocker of them all. Quite reminiscent of the Yule Ball, I'd say."

I gulp, my palms sweaty, my trousers threatening to tighten on me.

Damn, she did look good at the Yule Ball, but she's 18 now, not 14. Her looks have drastically improved, as have everyone's, and now I'm actually nervous as I reach the doorway to the flat. I don't know what to expect, and frankly, I don't know how restrained I can act when she already turns me on without effort.

I think George can sense my sudden apprehension. He smiles wickedly at me and goes inside leaving the door ajar for me.

I inhale deeply, smooth down my jacket and enter the room.

"_Hey _Draco." That voice is not Granger's, it's Lanka's. And as I look to the right where it came from, in the kitchen, my date is absent.

Miss Russia is holding a margarita in her hand next to Ginny, Verity is mixing more. The boys are also drinking girly concoctions, reluctantly so, handling the glasses awkwardly.

Everyone looks pretty good, actually. If it were appropriate, I'd applaud them.

Ginny is wearing a merlot red dress, skin tight and mid-thigh, with one shoulder strap. Her hair is looking most like a lions mane as I've ever seen it, with her front pinned back, the rest flying away; but it looks good. Lanka is wearing a lacy white dress, so I'm going to rule out Hermione wearing one. Hers is strapless, with a tight bodice and very flowy skirt and her hair is pin straight. Verity's is dark blue exactly like George's outfit, which is a bit hilarious, and is Grecian-style, a halter that goes to her knees. Her blonde hair is in a small, low ponytail.

Potter is looking uncomfortable in a white vest and black dress shirt, but he looks a thousand times better than normal. His hair is still unkempt, but it's probably 'endearing' to Weaselette, so whatever. Weasley is wearing a grey long sleeve shirt and checked tan pants. His shoes are shiny and his hair is slicked back, which is good, but the whole ensemble is a bit lacking in style. But I won't make fun of him, especially as it's a good thing I look better.

Now, I wonder where Hermione is…

"You all look very smashing," I comment. When nobody says anything, a bit taken aback at Draco Malfoy doling out compliments, I try again to break the ice. "Guess we were wrong about the dress colours, huh?"

Potter and Weasel half-assedly shrug.

"Dress colours?" Verity asks.

"Yesterday we were guessing what colours you ladies would choose," I reply. Weasley groans for some reason.

"Oh _really?_"

"And vat did you say for us?" Lanka prods, grinning wildly.

"Well I sort of led the conversation, the lads didn't really disagree with me. But for you, blue; for Ginny purple or green; Verity, red; and Hermione, maybe white. Doesn't matter though, you all turned out looking very nice."

"Well you were sort of right, but you mixed up who had what. And yes, we do, don't we?" Ginny laughs. Potter glares at me, envious that I can actually hold a conversation with his woman. Well he's being a sourpuss, am I supposed to keep my mouth shut?

"We did, yes. Is Hermione wearing purple then? Green?" _Where is she!_

"No, she's not. She just decided to go and put on tights last minute, so she should be – "

Verity doesn't get to finish her explanation because a door suddenly is being pushed ajar, and the creaking makes everyone turn their heads to it. I swivel completely around, knowing this is the moment.

My breath hitches, my stomach drops way down to my toes when I see Hermione walk timidly out the door. She catches my gaze and I'm instantly mesmerized.

She is the most exquisite thing I've ever laid eyes upon.

I am almost frozen to the spot, I can't find my words or will to move because she looks better than I could have ever imagined. And just knowing that she is the whole package; wit, kindness and beauty, I feel completely inadequate next to her.

I drink in her appearance, every inch of her will be noticed.

She looks sinfully dark; The first thing that catches me is her face. Her usually blank canvas is painted artfully; red lips, dark eyeliner and golden eyelids maker her copper eyes smoulder. Her hair is curled in a deliberate manner, more shiny with tighter ringlets than normal. Her long hair peaks over her shoulders and frames her soft face.

Fuck, she's hot.

"I sink Draco is stunned, love." You can say that again. "Turn around and show him ze whole deal."

Hermione shakes her head at Lanka, then looks back at me, blushing lightly and biting her lip shyly. She tucks a strand of hair behind her head as she spins around slowly, mindful of her new height.

Her dress is the best part, hands down. Made of a black shiny material, it could be leather. The top has two thick straps with a scoop neck that tapers into her waist and glides down her torso, ending in a V shape where the bottom half begins. The skirt is lightly pleated, flaring outwards to just above her knees. And Jesus Christ, the back of her dress dips teasingly low down her body; I can see her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine, ending right above her arse.

Her nice long legs have on nude tights with a black back seam, which is a huge turn on for me, and she's matched these little aqua heels complete with a bow to her nail polish, which is adorable as fuck.

I am completely in awe of how much effort went in to this, the attention to detail, especially if it was all for me.

"So, what do you think?" This comes from Verity, amusement filled in her inflection.

I snap back to reality, realizing I'm being a bit creepy watching her so intently, and regain my composure.

"There are no words," I admit truthfully, feeling my face turn pink. George snorts.

"Atta boy, mate."

Remembering something, I open my jacket which I still have on, and grab a thick vial in my inner pocket.

I walk over to my girlfriend, relishing that word in my mind, and decide on kissing her once, lightly, as I am aware of the audience behind me. She smells like cinnamon, which adds another layer of planning to the outfit; it's _spicy _like she is tonight.

"This is for you," I whisper softly, handing the vial to her, and she looks into my eyes, a curious expression resting there.

"What is it?" she asks as she examines the little tube.

"You have to open it, genius," Ginny calls from across the room.

"Oh shut it," Hermione retorts, sticking her tongue out and smiling. "You are all being very nosy, by the way."

"Girl, have you seen yourself? I am a master of creating hot girl disguises, aren't I? I would not miss Draco's reaction for unlimited cocktails."

Hermione blushes, and turns a deeps scarlet as I say, "You _are_ the master, Verity. And for that, we _greatly_ thank you."

The girls chuckle, as does George. The other two are still not attuned to my obvious charm and appeal.

"Open it, open it!" Lanka squeals, jumping up and down.

"If this makes us look bad, Malfoy, I'm going to have to stun you," George jokes.

Hermione pops the small lid off the opaque vial, and immediately the magic spell works as I'd hoped. A dozen pink roses pop up from the bottom, the container acting as a small vase. I went to a florist in Diagon Alley, and I thought she'd appreciate the effort that went into creating something so unique.

Hermione gasps at them as they shoot up and form petals, surprised that it could hold such large flowers. She proceeds to look at me like I gave her the answers to final exam questions, which instantly gratifies me.

"Oh, _they're beautiful._ Thank you," she says sincerely. "How did they fit in there?"

"They're instant flower seeds, activated by oxygen. I don't know how it works exactly, I bought them admittedly. But I thought that you'd think the charm was really interesting, so," I fumble for further explanation, but I don't need to. She wraps her arms around me and kisses my cheek easily, now that she is a few inches taller.

"I do. Thank you."

She leans back and grins at me, and I positively melt at her expression. I have no idea how I managed to become one of those boys that fawns over a girl and will do anything to please them, but the feeling of satisfaction I get from her being happy is immensely better than that of any alcohol or insult getting under someone's skin.

I pull her in to hug her again, and I feel the warm skin on her back, and the softness of her hair, and fuck, I don't want to bloody go out. I want to take her into a bedroom and shag her silly, making her come again and again until she can't take it anymore.

"Alright, love birds, do you want a drink before we go?" I kiss Hermione's forehead before turning back round, silly smiles plastered on the girls faces, George raising an eyebrow at me, and Potter and Weasley absolutely livid at my romantic gesture.

Well, fuck them, I told them I was doing it, didn't I? I warned them.

"I would love one, thanks."

"I'll have a small one," Hermione agrees.

_What?  
_"Are you drinking then tonight?" I ask incredulously.

"A teensy bit," she replies coyly to me. "I figured it can't hurt me, right? I just don't want to get out of control."

"Well I do! Make another round, please. Woo!" Lanka exclaims, waving her empty glass in the air. This enthusiasm seems to break the funk the boys were in and they chuckle, walking over to their respective dates.

"I'll take care of you, don't worry," I murmur to Hermione.

"Thanks. Me too," she agrees, smirking when I look at her oddly. "Drink?" she continues, swaying her hips ever-so-slightly as she walks to the island where the whole party stands.

Was she using innudeno? She'll 'take care of me'?

Something has happened to Miss Granger. I think she realizes she _is _quite the looker, up to par with her beautiful friends. And damn, if she's getting tipsy, this ain't going to go well for my sexual sanity. She is too sexy.

"I'm going to go get some whiskey from the downstairs. Sick of these sugary bitch drinks. Malfoy, wanna accompany me for a sec?"

I flash a look at Hermione at this request for privacy with George, but she only urges me with a swift jutting of her chin. So I shrug, feeling a bit uneasy at what he's going to say, and walk to the stairs.

"Now, Malfoy," he begins as the door slams. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. I just want to let you know I saved your arse last night from getting a beating."

He jumps down the last step to the main floor and over to a locked cabinet in the corner of the storage room. "How so?"

"Well, you paid for all the dresses. That's not what we do in regular society."

I falter for a moment. "Don't tell me Potter and Weasel got pissy?"

He gives me a look before rifling through glass bottles. "_Harry_ and _Ron _don't know a damn thing, actually. I understand why you did it, to you it's a polite gesture, and a nice one to boot. But the thing is, is that since you're new here in this circle, buying dresses for other people's dates seems like you're trying to outdo them, or gain power, but I _know _that wasn't your intent. Just ask next time about it, okay?"

I contemplate his words. I suppose that deduction seems logical. "Okay, I think I understand. I will try to behave."

"Good. Look, since Harry and Ron didn't offer to pay, it's fine. That's why it wasn't a national emergency. Just, can you imagine buying something for Hermione, and then have say Ron insist on paying for it for you? Makes you feel small as a man, yeah?"

"Yeah, I agree," I concede. _Like Weasley could afford what I can_, my dick of a brain thinks.

"Anywho, all is well! Let's go upstairs and indulge on this whiskey." He holds up my father's favourite brand, and I smirk, being ever so familiar with it. "

"I can already tell by the giddy girls and at least having somebody else loosened up (aka you but don't tell the blokes)," he says secretly, covering his mouth comically with his flared hand, "It's going to be a fun night."

As we re-enter the flat Verity has started blasting some dance music. The flowers I gave to Hermione are set carefully on the counter for safekeeping.

George pours me my first beverage of the night on the rocks, and I look at my date, flush already with one of her only experiences with liquor. She clinks my glass when I receive it and I relish in the taste of it. When everyone is distracted, she breathes to me, "_I really love the flowers, Draco. By the way, you look divine. I can't wait for us to spend the night together."_

Merlin.

"_Me neither, Hermione. God, I'm going to try my hardest to make this amazing for you. Don't get me wrong, you're always attractive, but you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen as of tonight."_

She makes a small audible groan and her face looks almost sad as she captures my lips with hers quickly, a kiss of need. I guess that was the ultimate thing to say. She deepens the connection, it lasts a minute before she forces herself to stop, and leans into my shoulder.

"I don't want to end up in the _Prophet _again," she murmurs a bit to herself, a bit to me. "But I may end up having to snog you at the club, so you're prepared."

Damn, this _is _going to be a good night.


	40. Constant Interruption

**SEMI IMPORTANT A/N**: Hey everyone, been a few weeks since I checked in. Just wanted to continually thank and praise you for following this story, whether you commented, favourite it or simply read it.

I was looking through this site for random fics to read, and I was vainly curious about my own, so I searched for 'Undisclosed Desires.' More than FOUR HUNDRED results popped up. Like any irrational insecure person, I changed it (for those new readers, it used to be Monophony, and then Undisclosed Desires; this is the second swap).

I'm sorry that I keep changing the name. I honestly had no idea I'd still have the drive to be writing this fic, 2 years, 40 chapters later, and I just have this perfectionist side of me nagging inside my head to get everything A+.

So I've changed it to _Head Versus Heart_ because it really catches the tone I think of it, and it's an allusion to one of my favourite lines from a Death Cab for Cutie song [Crooked Teeth, look it up ;) ]

Love you all! Xx _FeminaSerpens_

* * *

_**The way that she moves, well I was aroused, empowered, impassioned by every move.  
It's so cold outside, we need a place to hide; go into the club to thaw out for the night.  
She's automatic, so automatic - the way that she moves, the way that she moves.**_

_**My head was spinnin' a million miles an hour, the chance I was takin'; I get anxious around her.  
She put her head on my shoulder, I started to hold her. Swingin' and swayin' the morning began.**_

**- She's Automatic, Rancid.**

* * *

"It is _bloody _cold, Merlin's saggy pants!"

Ron has drank a bit too much, I'd wager. He's already got that glazed look on his face.

Lanka doesn't seem to care though, she's in the same boat, clutching his arm for support as we walk down the street to the club, giggling at everything he says.

"Warm enough?" Draco asks me, grabbing my ungloved hand and sticking them entwined into his jacket pocket.

"Just fine," I reply.

He smirks at me, making my stomach flip. His reaction to my outfit, while very embarrassing, made me feel really good about myself. Personally, I think he looks a thousand times better, so having him speechless stroked my ego in a very delicious way.

I grin back at him.

I can't _stop_ smiling in fact, and it's not from the liquor.

It was such a lovely gesture to buy me flowers. He really does go all out on every occasion, doesn't he? I could get used to that. I'll concede that I like being spoiled a bit. Sometimes routine, even my studying one, fails to satisfy me.

I hit a groove, and jut my heel into the cobbled street. Luckily Draco catches me as I'm about to fall, and though I'm not drunk, I feel like I need to make an excuse for myself.

"Sorry, sorry, I slipped. _I must confess I think the margarita helped me with the warmness I feel now," _I profess. "Hopefully it isn't too obvious."  
I stuck to the rules I laid out for myself and only had one drink at George's. Admittedly, it was quite good, I'm a sucker for citrus. But it was enough to make my face flush with warm from the tequila. I think maybe I'll get something similar at Dragonblood.

Draco laughs.

"It isn't that obvious, the blush suits you anyways. You look quite adorable, even when clumsy."

He never ceases to make me flush.

"You alright, darling?" Verity calls from in front.

"Fine, thanks! The situation is under control."

"Great," Verity smiles, and then turns to George. "So are we going to be on the VIP list or what?" she teases him, then he rolls his eyes at her.

"_No, _we're not famous, remember?"

"But _Harry _is!"

"Were you serious when you said that then?" Harry asks, looking over at Ron who is now stumbling. "Will there be some Quidditch players there?"

"Honestly, it's what the owner said, Mr. Gold. I'm not 100% certain. He likely was trying to up the ante, getting you to show up would make the night probably go into the _Prophet, _even if it was just in that crappy 'Out and About' section. Obviously he did his research in passing on to me the enticement of meeting some seekers."

Harry shrugs and nods, probably self-conscious that he can make or break an opening night for an establishment.

"Who cares, anyways? We never go out. People used to bother us all the time, but that was months ago. Maybe they'll bother other people tonight," Ginny expresses.

"That would be ideal!" Draco replies loudly to that, cupping his hands to his mouth.

Verity audibly snorts.

She turns around from the lead and tells him, "Darling, you and Hermione are probably more of a target than Harry tonight, having a repeat encounter in public so soon after the speculation. They're not going to leave you alone if they're there."

My date outwardly cringes at the thought, realizing she must be correct.

"Who cares?" I say boldly. "Let them. It's true, isn't it? We _are_ dating. People may as well know now so they can get their initial loathing of my decision making out of the way. I have no doubt in my mind that everyone in Gryffindor will be judging me when we get back."

Draco falters for a second when I explain this, taken aback by my audacity.

"That's the right attitude, _hic," _Lanka yells, pumping her fist in the air and hiccupping. Ron chuckles at her, finding it cute, and I'm grateful that he's preoccupied. He's going to leave us alone tonight and have a great time (hopefully). I'm definitely thanking Verity later for this set up.

"Does that bother you?" Draco asks me directly, his voice sober if not a bit small.

"Of course it does, these people are my peers and friends," I answer honestly. "I hate to say that I'm horrible under certain people's scrutiny, especially my own house. But I'm ready for it. I see you for who you are, not just for what you've done, you've shown me you've improved drastically from last year this past week."

"Yeah?" he says, a little stunned and proud of my approval.

"Yeah. So just, forget about it. We'll take it in stride. What's a better way to prove them all wrong than having a nice time?"

He grins wickedly at me and kisses me on the mouth, leaving a burning sensation and whiskey taste when he pulls away from the contrast of the chilly night.

"And we're here!"

We've reached the tall black, looming building: Dragonblood is emblazoned across the top in gold, glittering magically. After all this build up, I feel giddy with excitement as we enter the big wooden doors.

The building is completely transformed from being an antique shop; there is a small coat check in the corridor immediately inside, and then a gigantic archway leads to a room blaring with Wizarding music. It looks quite full. We did get here a bit late, it's already past 11.

The host is a man with a low dirty blonde ponytail, heavy-set and about 25. As all eight of us make it inside, he whips his head up and brightens up as he spots George, then glows even brighter at Harry.

"George, so nice of you to take up the invite! Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley! And oh, Miss Granger too! You brought some fantastic friends," he says, scanning us. I feel unsettled as he lands his eyes on me, because he looks at my hand in Draco's pocket. And he _should _grimace at our pairing, but instead his expression looks even more ecstatic.

"Er, yeah. We just wanted to drop off our coats and check our wands, so…." George seems a bit suspicious of this man, perhaps he doesn't know who he is.

"Not at all, not at all. Mr. Gold will see you inside, he's here for the grand event. Bruce? Dickinson? Grab our special guest's coats. And Genine here will take your wands for safekeeping."

_Safekeeping?_

All at once unknown men (bouncers I presume) take our belongings, swiftly and uncomfortably taking everyone's jackets off for them.

"I do _not _want to give them my wand," Draco growls in protest as he brushes of one of the men trying to take of his coat.

"I know, mate, but it's law," George prods, and I look at him, trying to silently tell him it'll be fine.

One by one, we place our wands in Genine's hands, a pretty witch who says nothing. Once he sees that I have handed mine in, Draco very reluctantly passes over his, scowling.

"I know you're all of age, go inside, go inside!" The host smiles at us too happily, then checks out Lanka quite obviously, running his eyes up and down her body. Verity sneers at him.

Lanka is a master of indifference however, and she strolls right past him dragging Ron in tow.

Awkwardly, the rest of us shuffle inside figuring it's not worth a fight.

"_What a creep_," Harry mutters.

"_Why is it law to have them keep our wands?_" Ginny whispers to George, fazing past the unwarranted leering.

"Alcohol and charms don't go too well together," he says. "It's just a necessary precaution."

I cannot hear the rest of the conversation as the music becomes deafening, the front entrance likely soundproof.

The main chamber is bustling with drunken people, magical strobe lights flashing before my eyes making them ache. Everyone looks around our age. It's quite small for a club, actually. Granted, I've never been to one, but it's just an open space, with a raised platform-cum-dance floor to the left. The bar is against the back wall while there is a grand staircase that leads up to the loos. I _can't_ _believe_ my eyes when I spot a floating, rotating disco ball replacing a chandelier.

The wizarding community seriously needs to get up with the times.

"This is AWESOME!" Ron shouts to us, though I'd wager it's more out of Lanka taking him to dance rather than the actual location. They disappear into the crowd, not without garnering some stares from envious boys and girls.

"Bar?" George asks loudly to us. Verity shakes her head, still looking a bit peeved about the host.

"No, I want to embarrass myself, and _you_, first. Let`s get up on this ridiculous stage!" She yanks him by the collar, and up into the throng of patrons grinding and 'getting rowdy' as we so eloquently put it. In regular Weasley twin fashion, he merely sparkles with a grin and joins his lady. They begin to wiggle around tastefully with over exaggerated moves.

"You don't want to dance, do you?" I ask Draco, pulling him close so I can talk in his ear.

He looks at me and pulls a face. "No, I really don't. Do _you_?"

"No!" I yell, laughing at his reaction. "It's far too congested! And people are staring."

I notice a few people glaring openly at us, or perhaps it's just Draco. I feel like I did last year again, only it's not praise, it's loathing.

"I agree. The sooner we get out of this fluorescent mess, the better. Potter? Drink?!" Draco yells over the din to Harry, whose standing surrounded by people a bit too daunted to go near him, whispering and gazing at him.

He looks thoughtfully at Ginny, who coolly ignores the gawkers. She looks longingly at the dancers, then rolls her eyes and nods, knowing that he wants nothing to do with this gang of people.

"I promise you after one drink I'll dance, okay? For however long you want."

With that concrete assurance, Ginny is once again her usual self and hurriedly drags him over to the bartender, whisking him away with lightning speed.

"Hermione, you wanna do shots?" she asks, calling out to me cupping her hands to her mouth.

I am not as enthused as she is, nor can I scamper as fast as she can in these heels, but I try to catch up to her, ambling past the sea of bodies.

"No, I don't want to do shots," I reply as I make it over. "I want to have something that takes a while to consume."

She pouts. "Aw, you're no fun! Harry?" she asks longingly. He shakes his head.

"No, I have to watch out for everyone. I have a feeling George and Ron will be lacking responsibility if they have a bit too much fun." Ginny gives him a look, clearly disproving at the lack of loosening up.

"Classic Potter, always afflicted with Hero Syndrome," Draco smirks, though not unkindly. "I'll do one with you, if you'd like," he offers.

"You will _not." _Harry looks livid at the prospect, Ginny a bit surprised at his reaction.

"Why?" Draco asks, smiling as if the protest is ridiculous.

"I don't exactly want you getting drunk with _my _girlfriend, and have everyone else witness it too. Besides, you need to stay alert for Hermione. Don't you think shots are a bit reckless?"

"Harry, it's really not a big deal…"

"Potter, I know you disprove of me drinking, but I have a high tolerance. One shot isn't gonna do me in, I only had a glass of whiskey at George's."

"_Ugh, _that's not the point…."

"What's wrong then?" I ask him, feeling like there is something deeper.

"Nothing. Just go ahead, take your shot. I'll be right back, need some water," and he shoots away to the bathroom. Ginny and I exchange glances, and Draco looks a bit discomfited.

"I'm going to go talk to him, if that's okay Ginny?" She nods, and turns to Draco.

"Vodka?" She asks less cheerily than usual, clearly embarrassed by her boyfriend's behaviour.

"Yes, let's." He gives me a reassuring nod, letting me know that he's unfazed and that he'll stay with Ginny.

I quickly push my way to the stairs, trying to keep an invisible target on Harry, and luckily I manage to get to him before he goes in the toilets, cursing my footwear as I fumble up the steps.

"Harry!"

He spins around, a frown etched on him. "How did I know you'd come after me?" he sighs.

"I just want to know what's going on in your head. We've been here for five seconds and you're already in a huff. Ginny understands that you can sort things out on your own. But I feel like this is an issue with Draco, and so it concerns me, and so I have to bug you about it."

"I think it's obvious what's wrong," he says, looking at me seriously, hesitant.

"I know it's Draco, but what is it? The fact we're in a bar? I know you didn't want to come."

"It's _everything, _Hermione," he whines. "I understand you're dating Draco, and you like him, but I don't. I don't want to be here with him, I don't want to be here at all, really. It's so awkward, and on top of everything this place seems fishy, doesn't it? How happy that man was to see us all?"

"Look, I know this wasn't going to be a fairy-tale, but Draco is trying to cooperate isn't he? He's not trying to get along with Ginny, and George, to piss you and Ron off."

"I know, but it's hardwired into me to think that. It's going to take time. And if yesterday was any indication, Ron will never forgive him. Right now he's distracted by pretty Russian girls, but it's not going to be like that all the time."

"Well are you going to let the one time it _is _like this stop you from having a good time?" I give him a reproachful look, and he begins to look a bit sheepish. "If you'd like, I'll just drag Draco away after he's done taking a shot. Then you can be with Ginny alone. "

"That'd be nice," he concedes.

"Okay well let's go back down. And next time you want to let off steam, don't be so obvious as to go 'get water' when we're literally right beside a bar that stocks it in gallons."

"Oh, shut up," He nudges me. "I was seeing red so I took myself out of the – "

"HOW IS EVERYONE DOING TONIGHT, HUH?"

Harry is cut off as there is a loud interruption from down below. We lean over the railings to witness an older man in a garish, shiny yellow suit using the sonorous charm. I take it he's the owner, Mr. Gold, because of his wardrobe choice and because he has control of his wand.

After his yell, the crowed reverberates in a cheer.

"_GOOD_? GOOD! I OWN THIS BAR, I'M MR. GOLD, AND I'M SO HAPPY TO HEAR EVERYONE IS HAVING A GREAT TIME." More cheers. "I JUST WANTED TO GRAB ALL OF YOUR ATTENTION QUICKLY BY SAYING WE'VE GOT A FEW CELEBRITIES IN THE HOUSE!"

"Oh…no." Harry and I look at each other in horror.

"I HAD HOPED TO GET A FEW NOTABLE QUIDDITCH PLAYERS IN HERE TONIGHT, BUT THEY ALL DECLINED; FAR TOO BUSY TO PARTY, TSK TSK." The crowd begins to get into the spirit, booing and hissing sounds from them, mingled with giggles and 'aww's. "BUT DON'T FEEL DOWN, WE DON'T NEED THEM. MY HOST TELLS ME _HARRY POTTER, _YES FOLKS, THE BOY WHO LIVED, IS HERE WITH RON WEASLEY, AND HERMIONE GRANGER!" Gasps of excitement rise from a few people down below. Several people at the bottom of the stairs are pointing up at us, showing their friends where we are.

"AND THAT'S NOT ALL! GEORGE WEASLEY OF _WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES_ IS HERE ALONG WITH HIS GRILFRIEND UP THERE ON THE PLATFORM. SEE THEM?" He points to them and they wave, undeterred by this whole thing. "IN FACT, GINNY WEASLEY, HARRY'S GIRLFRIEND IS STANDING RIGHT BESIDE ME NOW WITH THE ARISTOCRATIC, _HIGHLY _CONTROVERSIAL, _DRACO MALFOY. _"

A spotlight appears out of nowhere to feature both Ginny and Draco, about to take their shots; glasses at their lips. They freeze midair, looking like deer in headlights. Mentioning Draco seems to have gotten the rouse the owner wanted, as everyone who wasn't already paying attention swoops their head to him.

Anxiety turns in my stomach when flash bulbs begin to go off.

Seems they're photographing tonight after all.

Draco at this action gives Mr. Gold a gaze of the deepest loathing, and Ginny looks extremely annoyed, which only elevates as he puts his arm round her shoulders to pose for the camera. She stares at him like he's an idiot.

"NOT BEING NAUGHTY ARE YOU, YOU TWO? _HA HA HA."_ Harry makes fists with his hands, a low rumble escaping his throat.

Merlin, this is _so_ uncomfortable to watch.

"WHERE'S HARRY, GINNY? AND DRACO, ARE THE RUMOURS TRUE? HAVE YOU JOINED OUR RANKS AND SEDUCED THE BRIGHTEST WITCH OF HER AGE?"

He thrusts his wand to Draco's throat, enabling him to speak louder. Draco tilts his head as if to say, 'are you freaking kidding me?', and mutters, "Ask her yourself."

"OH HO, A LITTLE FEISTY STILL, ARE YOU? I CAN'T VERY WELL ASK HER IF SHEèS NOT HERE." Even though he's far away, I can see the signature eye roll. "I CAN SEE RON DANCING WITH A SMASHING GIRL OVER BY THE CORNER, BUT WHERE ARE THE MISSING TWO, HMM?"

Everybody scans the place until somebody yells close to Mr. Gold, "Up there, look!"

Please, no_._

The spotlight moves around until it finds us, blinding me. More pictures are taken. A few claps and whistles are made, probably because of Harry's presence.

"OH THERE YOU TWO ARE! BEING SO SECRETIVE! WELL THERE YOU HAVE IT, AT LEAST YOU KNOW THEY'RE HERE! BEFORE I GO HANG OUT WITH THESE COOL CATS –"he points to us, and I feel my insides cringing. "FOR THE NEXT HOUR, BUY ONE SHOT GET THE OTHER FREE!"

Everyone whoops, a few scramble immediately to the bar.

"Shall we go, then?" Harry sighs. "That was surely an invitation."

I nod, but we stand where we are until the bright light fades, so we can get by as unnoticed as possible.

The room seems daunting in size now as we try to walk back to Ginny.

Between the slurs of "It's so nice to see you, Harry!", "The Boy Who Lived!", "Nice going, man!" and pats on the back, it seems like forever to get past the horde. At first we smile and are as pleasant as possible, but Harry yanks my arm and stops being friendly when a man catcalls to me. His friend stumbles as he looks me up and down and declares "Damn, The Brightest Witch of Her Age is also one of the hottest. Wanna dance, sweetheart?"

_Ugh._

"I'm starting to regret wearing this. Thanks," I say to him as we get past the thickest part of the crowd.

"Yeah, me too. Yours isn't as bad as Ginny's though, I swear to Merlin if somebody…." He mutters a curse under his breath and as we get back into breathing air he lets me go and charges to her, a crowd surrounding her now. I don't see Draco.

Before I can make it to the bar, someone grabs my arm gently. Oh, thank heavens.

I spin around, expecting my date, "I'm really sorry you-"

_Oh god, no._

It's not Draco, it's _Lavender_. She's spotted me through all this mess, and is beckoning over people to see me. No, no , no , no, _no._

Godric Gryffindor, it's Dean.

_Dean. _

Along with Seamus, Padma and Parvati, all looking completely wasted.

"Hermione!" Lavender shrieks, pumping up my arm like an old friend that I'm simply not. "It's s-so good to see you! Where's that man, where's Ron? Is- is he here?" she asks, slurring her speech.

"Um, he's on the dance floor somewhere. I'm not sure exactly," I word carefully, mindful of the fact that I shouldn't mention Lanka to set her off on me.

"He _is _here though? I heard that fat man say it. Hang on, hold my drink, I have to find him." She _drops _her drink onto me, causing it to hit the ground and shatter before I have time to react, and saunters away.

"Oh, _bollocks." _She's gotten some sort of vile liquid all over my dress, the hem soaked.

"Hermione," a stern voice commands my attention.

I do not have the strength to deal with this right now.

"What are you _doing _here with Malfoy!" Dean steps up to me, not as horrifically tall as he normally is with my heels on. He looks incapacitated like everyone else, swaying slightly, but his eyes are more alert. "Haven't you dumped him yet? Maybe I was just one date and that's fine, but him? How could he be more than a fling? You really think he isn't using you to look good? I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the _Prophet; _what could you possibly see in him?"

I'm not dignifying that with a serious response.

"Look Dean," I start as loudly as I can. "This isn't a conversation I want to have right now. We're supposed to be having fun, in a bar, and we've both been drinking. If you really want to discuss this, let's do it at school, okay? In a private environment."

"Hermione," Seamus comes up to me, smiling in a drunken stupor. "Dean is right, ya? He's concerned for ya, lass," he winks, his Irish brogue strong under the influence. "We're in Gryffindor, we have to look out for one another. We justa wanna make sure yer alright. Malfoy ain't the ideal mate for ya, you could have it so much better."

Somebody giggles behind Seamus. Padma creeps up and slaps him on the behind, then kisses him heartily on the mouth. He reciprocates.

What-?

"Are you happy with him? Dean, move _over._" Parvati scooches between the canoodling couple and my prosecutor, and grabs onto his arm.

"Are you having a good time with him?" she repeats, pointing at me, obviously sloshed, but serious. "Look at her Dean, she looks fabulous. I think she likes him. Who wouldn't though, he's lookin' pretty fii-iine tonight."

Oh _god. _Wrong thing to say, Parvati.

"Yeah, well she looked nice for me too, and then decided she just wanted to be friends," he replies testily.

"Yes, I have been enjoying my time with him _immensely_," I enunciate clearly, ignoring Dean.

_Just_ _not tonight. _

"I don't understand it, though. His family messed with you, with _me, _with everyone, and he bullied you for years! Christ we were in his manor," he reminds me, edging closer to my ear to block out his friends. "He's hurt you so badly. What the hell could you see in him?" he repeats. "It can't be his personality. Is it his cock? His money? What!"

"How _rude," _I say, offended, pushing him away.

I remind myself he's wasted so I can curb the overwhelming desire to slap him.

"_Ahem_, is there a problem?" Though I'm happy to hear the silky drawl of Draco, I'm hardly relieved.

He stands tall next to me, his demeanour calm but hardened, I can sense it by the way he puts his arm around me.

Dean falters for a moment, deciding what to do. "No, no problem. At least for the meantime. But I'm certain there will be. Once Hermione gets her act together, and realizes she has a lapse in judgement; realizes you're Slytherin scum, you're dead. I'll see to it you are, I owe it to her for saving my life. _From your family," _he jabs. "I'm sure Harry and Ron will gladly jump aboard, they`re only tolerating you because she is._"_

Draco seizes up and sets his jaw, but takes a deep breath, not letting it show.

After a moment he replies. "_If_ I hurt her? Then I'll deserve it. And I welcome you to beat me to a pulp. But I won't and that's a promise. Just _watch _me prove you wrong."

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks a bit stunned.

Without letting it escalate any further, Draco takes my hand and squeezes it, dragging me over to Ginny still at the bar. I look uncertainly back, waving ridiculously at Seamus who is yelling a goodbye.

Even though there are plenty of people goading us, the crowd actually saves us from any more confrontations.

"Ah! The blooming couple! Nice to meet you, Hermione. Care for a drink, maybe a –"

""If you don't _mind_," Draco interrupts Mr. Gold, "I'd like to talk to Hermione without an interruption?"

Mr. Gold is taken aback, but plasters a cheery smile on his face. "Of course, of course."

We sit down on the bar stools on the side of the bar, away from Ginny who is avidly talking to Harry's fans, probably had a shot too many. Harry has a chin rested on his palm, waiting for her attention. Luckily, everyone leaves us alone, though I can see a few curious gazes watching us.

"How many shots did she have?" I ask Draco, who grins.

"We had about 3," he laughs. "She was pissed at Potter for giving no effort, but I said it was fine. I'd be the same."

"Drinks for the harassed couple?" One of the bartenders asks us kindly with a grin when he's finished with his customers at the front of the bar. He's a burly man with a beard, covered in tattoos.

"Yeah, Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, the strong one please, on the rocks," Draco orders.

"And for the lady?" I know Draco wants to drink to relieve stress, but I feel like if I have one it'll elevate mine. But damn, I'm not letting this bad mood get to me. My elated feeling I had coming in is completely gone, it needs some way to come back, even if it's drastic.

"Hm, well something light. I'm not exactly a connoisseur, so..." I admit.

"What flavours do you like?" He asks as he shakes Draco's drink together, passing it to him in seconds.

"I like sweet drinks, fruit flavoured."

"Perhaps an Albus Dumbledore?"

Draco raises his eyebrow. "An _Albus Dumbledore_?"

"Yep, created it myself. It's vodka, triple sec, and sweet and sour mix, but I can just replace the sweet and sour with lemonade. The man loved lemon drops, I'm sure you know. Sound enticing?"

"Yes," I reply. "Thank you. _Oh, _by the way, there's a broken glass over there, I wasn't sure who to tell."

"We'll take care of it," he smiles.

Draco sips his beverage heartily and eyes me mildly concerned. "Did you cut yourself? Step on the shards?"

"No, er, Lavender spilled her drink on me accidentally."

"Classy."

"Yeah, it got on my dress, but I'm fine…" I trail away, not wanting to talk about this. My drink is handed to me, and it looks quite nice, rimmed with sugar, garnished with a cherry. I move in closer to Draco as I take a sip.

"Are you alright?" I ask quietly, grabbing his hand. "Thank you for not exploding at Dean, I got the gist you wanted to."

"I did. But you were right when you said we have to show people we're fine, rather than _argue_ to people we are," he says morosely. "Right now, I'm not exactly sure how we're supposed to do that when everyone is gawking at us like – OI, can you _bugger_ _off_!" Somebody just captured us in embrace, sneaking a camera from behind Mr. Gold. They scamper off for other victims, looking frightened.

I can't help but giggle. "Oh, I see the sophisticated Malfoy drawl has disappeared momentarily."

"Yes, well, it's all a façade mostly. Maybe you Gryffindor's are _rubbing off on me_ ," he grins. "Drink good?"

"Don't give in, I like the way you talk." He flushes slightly. "And yes. It is quite good."

"Good. I think the drinks are about the only redeeming quality about this place."

"Normally I'd discourage the negative behaviour and thought, but I think you might be right."

He smiles, and we get to chat for a few minutes in peace until it's due time for us to be bothered.

"Sorry to interrupt, but can we have a group shot for the papers darlings?" A lady who looks to be Rita Skeeter's doppelganger, with red hair instead of blonde, stands before us smiling coyly.

"Uh – "

"Imelda Ipswitch, pleasure," she says, grabbing my limp hand and shaking it. "So, how shall we set this up?"

"You won't," Draco replies simply, taking another sip.

I really wish I had the nerve he did sometimes.

"I don't think you understand what you're declining, Mister Malfoy. Everyone has been trying to figure out where you and Hermione would show up next, or if you would at all. Now that you're here, with a clearly mixed reception, don't you want a smiling photograph in the _Prophet _ with her to show the world your love. Instead of say, a little quip stating you refused to comment? Don't think that would reflect pleasantly, hmmm? Don't want the public thinking you've gone mean do you, Hermione?"

"You're blackmailing us, then?" I ask appalled.

"You might say that," she says with an air of indifference.

"Well I couldn't give a gargoyle's hump to be honest," Draco spits. "You'll just speculate and lie again next week. I made up bullshit to the _Prophet _about Potter over there," he points, "years ago and you printed it. I guess this is my payback, huh?"

"So testy, my love. Just calm down, it'll all be alright," she 'soothes', beckoning her camera boy over to us,

"It will not! You slandered my mother, as did all the other papers because all you care about is stirring the pot. You don't care about repercussions, or if you seriously affect people. Plus, you've always 'reflected' me negatively as well as my family, why do you think I'd ever react positively towards you now? Get this guy out of my fucking face."

She purses her lips, fighting back anger. "Fine. _Peter?"_

He catches us off guard and he manages in one shot before they stalk away.

"_Idiots_," Draco mutters, shaking his head. "No doubt there will be a nasty caption under an unflattering photo of us tomorrow if they can't find a more worthy story."

"Probably. Thanks for having the guts to tell her off, I hate reporters, but I dislike being…"

"Rude," he finishes for me. "Yeah well, people think I am anyways. Plus I've got a bone to pick. Bartender? Another round please!"

He gulps down the final dregs of his initial drink, extending his arm to receive the next one. He fishes out Galleons from his pocket, but our server puts his hand up.

"Drinks for the special guests are free, lad," he explains, and saunters off to serve the queue.

Draco raises his brows at me again. "Yep. Drinks are definitely the only redeeming quality."

Thoroughly stewed in his remaining fury, he chugs his firewhiskey, then plops it on the ledge. Then he arises from the stool.

"Hell, Granger," he looks at me, face burning with alcoholic heat, "I doubt these aresholes will leave us alone unless we do something. Haven't seen anyone messing with Weasel and George. Wanna be fools and dance?"

My mind is telling me 'heck, no', but he looks so adorable, and I promised myself and Ginny I'd have fun.

"If we must." I have a third of my cocktail left, but I leave it on the table, and grab his arm.

As we pass Mr. Gold hovering by Ginny and Harry, Draco bravely cuts off the bystanders and addresses them.

"Ginny, Hermione would like you to dance now, since you seem to have forgotten you wanted to. Sorry folks." Mr. Gold forms a slight scowl on his face having his 'celebrity couple' being taken away.

"Oh, _yes! _That sounds like fun! _Hic, _I'll come back in a bit and finish off the story about me and Harry's first date." The small crowd giggles, stupidly amused at her drunkenness, and Harry groans.

"Potter come on, don't wallow in misery for this entire ordeal. Dance with your woman." He reaches for Ginny's arm, who steadies herself with great difficulty, while Harry shakes his head fervently but catches her in his arms, replacing her long empty cocktail on the bar.

With vigour, Draco drags me into the masses, who part like a crashing wave as they see us come forward. I spot George and Verity, still up on the platform, and direct Draco's attention to them, laughing. Their dancing has become less tasteful, George roaming his hands over her, though not too obscenely.

"At least they're having a good time!"

A Weird Sisters song has just begun, I recognize the singer's deep throaty growl. I would never mention this to Draco, but I actually like them a lot, they remind me of David Bowie if he decided to have a rock band.

I'm unsure of the name of this tune however, but it's catchy. Slow yet rhythmic, the bass is booming to a careless rocksteady beat from the guitar mingled with marimba and piano tones.

Draco seems to find it agreeable in any case, and begins to sway his hips in time with the song along with swinging his arms out.

I haven't _danced_ danced since Bill's wedding, so I mimic his movements, shuffling from foot to foot, letting the music take over me.

_And I – just wanna go out with ya baby; get down with ya, baby.  
Drink a little firewhiskey, til I start feelin' frisky,  
And take you home for the night._

"These lyrics seem pretty uninspired," I yell to Draco who smirks in turn, grabbing my hands and moving them in time with his.

"Of course they are, it's music for the masses, but I can see in the proper setting why it's enticing actually. It's kinda fun."

"Oh, really?" I ask. "So all it takes is a shot of whiskey and you loosen up?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I just want to have a good time with you. Without all the crazy people, I feel…you know, happy."

I feel a bit nonplussed at this confession, and I don't have a great response to it, so I lean in to kiss him instead. He moves a bit closer to keep it going, holding the small of my back. The touch of fingers on my bare skin and the taste of his tongue momentarily take me to another world.

I finally forget who is around me, and continue to snog Draco with a careless vigour, slow and intense. A fair few songs go by until we pull away for air, but with a slow sexy one coming on, I pull him back for a repeat experience.

I'm enraptured in this bliss until yet another trivial interruption literally taps me on the shoulder.

"'Mione! I wassss lookin' for you." I turn around angrily to see Ron, majorly tanked at this point, a goofy smile on his face.

"_Why_? Why do you need me?" A flash goes off in front of us. Miss Ipswitch has returned to capture the 'drama'. For the love of – just _why_, why can't we be left alone?

"Lanka's been gone….for a while now," he says, scrunching his face as if it was a hard thing to think up.

"_What?" _Red alerts go through my head, and I look to Draco to calm myself, but his eyes are wide like mine.

"Yeah, Lavender came up and asked to danccce, and I said no, but she insisted. So Lanka s-said it was fine, went to the loos…but it's been more than 10 minutes, so…been waitin'," he blinks stupidly, rocking back on his heels.

"Oh, for – You're an idiot, Ron Weasley."

"_What? _Whadidido?"

"Trouble in paradise?" Imelda asks us, looking amused instead of concerned.

"I would appreciate it if you would leave us alone, _thanks," _I bite as I turn back to Ron, pulling him closer to me. _"You should've gone with her and waited!," _I hiss._ "_She could be anywhere now. What are you thinking? She was just as drunk as you were, augh! Wait here with Draco."

Draco holds a disgusted look on his face, but he swallows his pride.

"I think I'm gonna puke." Ron puts a hand to his mouth, and stumbles onto my date.

"Fuck, come along Weasel, let's go to the toilets before we make another scene." He pushes him upwards, then begrudgingly puts his arm round his shoulder, and we swim through the ocean towards the upstairs. Luckily the message to the press has gotten through because we manage to get to the washroom without too much hassle.

Plenty of couples have retreated up here to make out, I notice.  
I wish I could partake.

_Sigh._

Draco gives me a look as he pushes Ron into the boys room. All I can do is shrug apologetically as I go into the girls.

"Lanka? Are you in here?" I call.

I hear a retching sound, and then a voice. "_Lanka_? Is that your name, darling?"

I freeze.  
That was no girl.

The sinks face me, and the toilets are around the corner. I edge my way towards the wall, and crane my head over to witness a man sprawled on the floor, _trying to peek under the stall._

Regardless of if Lanka is in there or not, I have to do something. I gather my nerve while I trot over there and grab the man by the shoulders, flipping him on his back.

His pupils are completely dilated. He's not just drunk, it _has_ to be something more.

"Heyyy, sweet thing. Wanna go to the stall over there? Your friend is being frigid."

"No, I certainly do not. You are not allowed in here, and I suggest you leave right this second!"

"Or what?" he whispers scarily, trying to grab my wrists on his biceps but failing. He doesn't seem to have control of his appendages.

"I'll get security. And the owner."

"Ha! Like they care, they're too caught up in Potter and friends." I realize he's very correct, though I don't let it show. Why _don't_ they have anybody watching patrons up here?

"Well I so happen to be one of the 'friends', and my boyfriend is in the men's next door. Seems you're out of luck." His face falls slightly, bringing him into a daze of thought.

"_Hermione?"_ the voice inside the stall croaks. It's definitely Lanka by the accent, thank god.

"Yes, I'm here, can you open up the lock, I need to get you out of the bathroom." I step over the mysterious man, kicking him gently with my foot so he rolls away from the door.

"_Ow," _he croaks, clutching his hand in pain.

When I hear the lock turn, I make a mad dash to get inside and trap us in there. Lanka is leaning back against the wall, vomit covering the toilet. She looks as if she's passed out standing up.

I'm not mad that she's really drunk, actually. I'm upset that she didn't use the buddy system because she might've been attacked or worse, but seeing as she isn't it's a good excuse for me to gather up the troops.

"Come on, Lanka, we're going to leave. We can go home, back to Verity's."

I need to get the hell out of here.

We've been here little over an hour, but it's been a nightmare. I don't know why I deluded myself into thinking people wouldn't notice if Draco and I were together, especially with Harry here. I guess I just don't see why it's such an interesting topic, nor do i want it to be.

I reach out for her arm, getting her to lean on me. I tentatively open the door; the man is wriggling gently, nursing his hand as if I cursed it.

I feel a bit bad if I did harm him, but he deserves it and I'm going to tell the staff what happened. It's absolutely unacceptable to have nobody keeping watch of the bathrooms, anybody could wander in and get hurt by themselves or by other people….

I drag Lanka over him to the exit, pushing back into the club, the music coming back full blast.

"Sank you, Hermione. He vas standing there for quite a long time, I can't remember when I even got into ze bathroom…" Lanka admits, rubbing her head with her palm. "I'm soooo sorry. I tend to go overboard when I go out."

"It's fine, we just need to wait for Draco and Ron if they're still up here," I say scanning the room with my limited mobility.

"Oh, good, you found her!" Ron's inebriated voice can be heard from beside me. I turn. "I couldn't find you."

Lanka smiles widely at him, perhaps delighted that he's delighted? I don't know how drunken hookups even happen, I mean Seamus and Padma was bizarre. Why not Ron and Lanka?

"Everything alright then?" Draco asks me, visibly annoyed that he has to babysit somebody who (when sober) hates his guts. Ron takes hold of Lanka and they begin to kiss; apparently vomit is no concern.

"No, actually. There's a man in there." Draco stiffens and leans in to grab my free fingers. "I'm alright, he was completely off his rocker though, it must be some kind of potion he took. _He was trying to sneak a peek at Lanka, he was actually on the floor trying to look in," _I confide.

Draco snarls.

"Let's go inform the manager and then get the fuck out of here. I will not tolerate being in a place that isn't completely safe, and I don't want you here either. Who knows what he would've done if you hadn't made it a few minutes early."

"Agreed."

"Weasley," he snaps his fingers to get his attention.  
Ron pulls back; "M'yeah?"

"We're leaving. We're getting Potter, your sister and George and leaving. Hold on to Lanka and follow us for the love of Merlin," he commands, all joy ebbed from his tone.

"Alright…so boss-s-sy." Lanka giggles half-consciously, and he grabs her by the waist to get down the stairs.

I look back to check the toilet. "Draco, why don't I stay here and make sure nobody goes in? You can get somebody."

"Hell no."

"Just go, go quickly. I can't risk something happening to somebody else."  
I give him a determined look, urging him to go. He sets his jaw displeased but spins round, wasting no time in pummeling his way through to Mr. Gold. He is still surrounded by desperate spectators hoping he'll introduce them to somebody famous.

Draco looks up to me before talking sternly to him, pulling the man aside for privacy. There is a lot of gesticulation and angry finger pointing. Mr. Gold becomes rigid by the end of the conversation and has a word with our burly bartender.

Draco beckons me down to meet him, gesturing to the front entrance.

I manage to direct one girl away from the loos before I make my way to the designated spot. I'm suddenly bombarded with questions and queries ('Where's your man?', 'Do you let him Slytherin to your bed sheets, har har?') but I bat them all away, uncaring for once if they'll dislike me tomorrow morning.

Draco has managed to get our entire party in one piece to the front, and is explaining no doubt what happened in the bathroom, as Verity is downright furious.

"Are you effing kidding me?!" she yells, stamping her foot. "Fuck Hermione, I owe you one. I can't believe I wasn't more…I'm such an idiot!"

"No you're not. You were lost in the moment. You were having _fun_. Ron and Lanka should have been more responsible, we should have been more aware. But both are too drunk to function right now, and we're angry; we can deal with them tomorrow, okay. Let's just leave."

Ginny has crossed arms, shaking her head silently while Harry is visibly angered.

"Going so soon?" Mr. Gold has the nerve to ask, popping up from the back to the foreground.

"Yes, and we will _not_ be coming back," Draco snaps. "At least I won't." George nods in agreement.

"B-but why?" he asks flustered.

"Look mate, when you invited me I was flattered. Now i'm embarassed for having brought my friends. I didn't think by asking Harry to come that you'd be putting my friends and _sister_ ondisplay."

"Display?"

"You're far too focused on creating a stir, and aout the people worth noting instead of about the safety of your guests. All night it's been clear that I've been bothered by the press, that Hermione and Potter have been. And you did nothing but encourage it, you let them in. In fact, if a man who is potentially a threat can get into the ladies room, you have a serious security problem, and until you solve it you should be condemned," Draco lists bravely. "If we can't even dance or have a drink alone in peace what the bloody fuck is the point of coming out at all? I won't make a scene as nothing happened tonight, but believe me if I hear of any harm happen because of this establishment you're done for. Now, piss off kindly and good night."

He swivels around, Mr. Gold a mixture of fright and disdain, and goes to grab his wand and coat waiting for him, the hosts overhearing the conversation.

I follow suit and gather my things, Verity and Harry help the more plastered of the group. By the time we get onto the street, I don't even feel the cold. I'm too numb with disappointment and regret.

"That was hellish," Draco mutters a bit loudly under his breath, bundling his scarf around his ears.

"I'm really sorry you guys didn't have fun…." Verity trails, obviously stricken with blame.

"It's not your fault. You aren't Potter and friends plus son of a jail-ridden Death Eater aristocrat," Draco replies. George gives a half-hearted chuckle, unsure if it was meant to be funny.

"I'm glad you got to experience it, but I think given all my 'famous' relationships, it's best I stay at home," I huff.

"Well there's no use in going home now. Please come back, let me make it up to you. We can just sit and chat, have more drinks or none. The night's still young."

I catch Draco's eyes, gauging his feelings. He shrugs and exhales.

"All right. But you better make me a damn good drink or I'll never come round again," he says a hint of a tease in there somewhere.

"Hey, that'd probably be a good thing if we want to go out uninterrupted," George tells him, nudging him in the side. "Photos every second, a panel of questions from the masses, ugly reporters and bar owners announcing the antics of the rich and famous…well, just famous in Ron's case."

Ron, glued to the hip with Lanka still and somehow standing, points up a finger: "I resent that, you know! I'll have you know I'm an international sex symbol."

Ginny and I giggle at this. Draco smirks and Verity tries very hard not to smile.

"International? More like municipal," George fires back. Draco snorts.

"Ah, the life of a celebrity is riddled with such drama," Ginny says mockingly like a reporter. "Everywhere the Golden Trio goes…trouble finds them! I can see the headline tomorrow:_ VIP Guests at Dragonblood Abuse Free Drink Rule and Leave Too Early._"

"'Famous Harry Potter…can't even go into a club opening without making the front page,'" Harry imitates Draco's snarky tone.

Draco to my surprise bursts out in genuine laughter, causing everyone to follow suit, a catalyst of sorts.

"That's great, Potter. I think Granger's and my byline will be worse: One minute muggle born Miss Granger is studying, saving the world from evil, and the next? Snogging the slithering enemy, Draco Malfoy. Bad boy determined to use her for fame and status? Or has she really tamed the beast? An in-depth reflection from Imelda Dipshit on page 32."

George is practically in tears now clutching his stomach, Verity is seemingly over her rage, chuckling uncontrollably.

I watch everyone enjoying themselves and wonder why we even left the apartment. I suppose the alcohol helped, combined with a shared bad experience for everyone to get alone.

Draco grabs my hand, still making witty banter with my friends, actually grinning from the conversation. After that ordeal, the night can only elevate. Maybe I didn't get to dance and be alone with Draco, but who says we can't do that back at my place?


	41. Too Many Dumbledore's

**Do I attract you? Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?  
Am I too dirty? Am I too flirty? Do I like what you like?  
Yeah, I could be wholesome, I could be loathsome I guess I'm a little bit shy.  
Why don't you like me; Why don't you like me without making me try?**

**- **_**Grace Kelly, **_**Mika**

* * *

"The stars look so beautiful, don't they?"

I look out the window.

The top of the houses and pubs cut across the sky illuminating the street. Above the roofs is a bleak blackness that fades into moonlight that shines while the stars glisten.

"Yeah, they do."

Granger and I are leaning against a couch in George's dark living room, staring at the outside, sipping on the ever flavour filled water.

Once we got back Verity decided to take care of Lanka, George with Weasel. Potter and Ginny are Merlin knows where, but I'm enjoying the serenity a thousand times more than the foul din in that bloody club.

Never again will I go to a busy bar, what a disaster. I'm trying to forget about it so I don't have the overwhelming urge to seek out Imelda Ipswitch and smash her camera.

I'm feeling a bit tipsy anyways, I've had about 4 drinks in the past few hours, but I'm glad actually. If I were more aware I'd probably have also given no care to the consequences and punched out the man in the bathroom. Good thing I'm not an angry drunk.

"They make you seem a bit small don't they? The stars?"

I glance at Hermione, switching out of angry-mode, who is still blankly observing the night.

"Au contraire, don't they give a sense of placement in the universe? If the sky was empty, you would always be wondering if something is up there, if there is more. At least you know there _is _something more."

She considers my words for a second. "I see what you're saying, but scientists in the Muggle world have already discovered there is so much more than we could possibly imagine or fathom, and we don't have enough time left in existence to find and see it all."

She actually looks distressed. It's kind of amusing, really.

When I drink my word filter is momentarily destroyed, so I let my incoherent thoughts pour out of my mouth.

"Well Granger, I'm not entirely sure what scientists do…but that's the beauty of life isn't it?: discovery. Can you imagine if there was nothing left to figure out? How boring that would be? The idea of 'questioning ' would be dead, and we'd all be miserable; "this is it?", we'd all muse. Life would be boring if there was nothing left to learn. Mystery intrigues us, it pushes us out of our box to use our brains, I've realized this past year. Calculated sound living is overrated. It's safe but it's meaningless. Change, however difficult, is necessary so we don't perpetuate an awful cycle over and over. (Like being a pureblood, yawn). It also happens to be painfully exciting."

She's contemplating me, suppressing an urge to appear impressed I think. "I'm sorry if this offends you, but, I never realized how clever you were until quite recently."

"About time everyone recognized my genius," I smirk.

She smiles back, causing my stomach to somersault. "A scientist, by the way, studies the world and its mechanics, essentially. What it's made of and what else is to be found that we don't already know about…I guess I'm just mildly upset I'll personally never know if there really are other things alive in the universe, they could be out there eons away," she admits, leaving her cup at her lips.

"How did these thoughts come about in your head anyways?" I chuckle, putting my arm around her. "You'd think you'd be stewing in how ridiculous that establishment was, not the inner workings of the planet."

"Well I was, but I'd rather forget about it honestly. As I was rehashing the past hour, I moved away from our experience and I started wondering about everyone else's. Why the hell the majority of the public finds people they don't even know more fascinating than these kinds of things, the universe and such, will baffle me forever. It's so trivial for example, what they're going to write about in the paper, but everyone will speculate about it for weeks. And I don't know why it irks me at all when there is an infinite number of things we could be pressing our time into worrying about."

She turns into me, resting her head on my chest, and pushes herself closer to my body. "Have any ideas?" she asks my shoulder.

"I guess we just like to drown ourselves in what is an escape," I reply. "Whatever vice it is. For most 'ordinary' folks, they want to hear about these famous personalities they can fantasize about , tear them down usually, so they then can feel better about themselves. They're making good choices, and that so and so in the _Prophet_, is not."

"Makes sense," she murmurs. I put my glass on the windowsill and cradle her.

"Are you tired?"

"No, not really. Usually I'm the only one with an opinion so I have nothing more to say because I agree."

"Oh. Er, sorry?" I can hear a muffled laugh from her.

"Don't be sorry. As I may have to repeat to you several hundred times, most people do not humour the topics I bring up in talking. But you do, and I appreciate it." She mimics me and wraps her arms round me, rubbing my back.

"You know me, can't keep my trap shut, always got to have an opinion."

She giggles, cupping my face. She looks into my eyes, stroking my jaw with her thumbs before snogging me gently, positively melting me.

I grab her scalp with one hand, a bare shoulder blade with the other and pull her into me. She emits a little moan as I massage the back of her head, caressing her surprisingly soft hair. I begin to dart my tongue around hers, extremely turned on, trying to deepen the kiss. I need and crave more closeness.

Fuck it, in a swift movement I'm lifting her arse with my hands and pulling her with all my might to rest her on the top of the sofa , so our lips are more level. Her shoes are no longer on to help with the height difference. In a very sexy way, she wraps her legs around my waist and holds on to me for support, tangling fingers through my hair and grabbing at my neck.

I'm holding onto her waist, the heat from my nether regions burning into hers, cock lengthening at every passing second. And I'm too intoxicated by her to care.

I circle my thumbs around her hips which makes her shiver. Very slowly I sneak my hands down to her thighs, rub them back and forth over her tights, pushing her skirt ever so slightly upwards. I do this so I can snake my way up to the bare skin under her dress. Her breath hitches and she comes up for air when my fingers make contact with her flesh. I pull my head back to check her reaction.

"_Keep going_," she breathes.

I stroke her pelvic bone gently and massage her back simultaneously. She pulls me in closer to me, our snogging becoming more furious, almost like we're swallowing each other whole.

She tightens the grip round my waist, and I can't help but groan. As I'm about to give in to ripping her clothes off, she yanks me a bit too far forwards.

Her nice perch on the couch top becomes unstable and she falls backwards, flipping me with my hands up her dress onto her at an awkward enough angle that I slide onto the floor headfirst. I scramble up in a sitting position, shocked, making sure I didn't boot her in the face or worse.

Her head is on the couch cushion, her legs splayed up over the back, skirt fallen down over her stomach.

For a split second I think she's started to cry but then I realize she's laughing quite hard.

As I join in George and Verity come out from their guest bedroom, probably alerted by my thump on the ground.

"Being naughty are we?" George chuckles at the sight.

"Just a bit of snogging," Hermione says blushing while she giggles, setting her skirt right as she sits on the sofa properly.

"Upside down?" she asks devilishly. "No snoo snoo in our living room, please. Actually, seeing as Harry and Ginny have disappeared, I'm hoping none at all," she cringes.

"Snoo snoo? What, are we 5?"

"Anyone want that drink now?" George asks, ignoring me and walking to the cupboard. Not sure if I mentioned it, but the kitchen is connected to the sitting room, the counter acting as an island to sit at.

"Yes! Make me a Frisky Witch please," Verity requests while sitting down next to me.

"Why are you on the floor?" George asks amused, getting out the cocktail shaker and various poisons.

"Stretch out my legs, they're a bit stiff. Plus we could make more of a circle seeing as we only have one couch."

"A circle, why?" Hermione asks, while sliding down onto the floor to rest her back against the cushions.

"Drinking game of course."

"Which one?" We all turn our heads to see Potter and Ginny rounding the corner from what I assume is the toilet. Ginny looks properly ruffled and Potter is flushing a bit, though noticeably tidier.

Ew.

"Whichever," Verity shrugs noncommittally.

"And what were you two doing?" George puts them on the spot as he shakes up some sambuca with vodka into a highball glass, bewitching water into ice.

"None of your business, actually. Nothing bad I assure you," Ginny replies walking over to mix a cocktail herself.

"Don't you think you've had enough, Gin?" Potter asks a bit wearily, complying with the apparent house rules and sitting next to Hermione on the ground.

"I've had three shots and 2 drinks, one more will be alright. We're playing a game, we have to participate to win," she winks, and Potter just shakes his head. "Don't worry, I'll mix a lot of juice into it."

"Hermione, drink?" George asks as he brings his girlfriend hers.

"Yeah, I had a good one in the bar, I kind of want that. An Albus Dumbledore," she says. Harry gives her an odd look. "I know it sounds weird, Harry, but the bartender invented it apparently. Draco, do you remember what was in it?"

"Vodka, triple sec and sweet and sour mix," I list off. "Or lemonade."

"Alright well we don't have the mix or lemonade but I have lemons, I'll just add extra ice or liquor, yeah?"

"Sounds good," she laughs.

"Harry?"

"Beer, maybe?" he says. "I don't feel like getting wasted."

"Yeah, I have Hobgoblin stout, it's not too dark, I think I'll have it too. Malfoy?"

"Well I don't want to take any more of your expensive liquor, have any shitty wine?"

"It so happens that my Aunt Muriel sent us a disgusting wine as a housewarming gift which Verity and I haven't finished in over a year. You're welcome to it." He spins around and reaches into a different cupboard, sliding a bottle all the way from the back.

"Excellent."

Ginny comes over with her putrid looking blue drink and sits in between Hermione and I, making Potter pout. "So what game are we playing? Something juvenile like Truth or Dare? Never Have I Ever? One with cards?"

"Something easy I guess," Verity answers.

"I assume we're playing without Ron and Lanka. Are they okay?" Hermione asks. I'm certainly glad we're not playing with them, I find I can relax a bit better with Potter when Ginny is around, but when Weasel's around I feel myself either wanting to attack him or disappear.

"Yeah, just wasted. I set them up in our guest room. Hopefully they stay passed out, they were groping each other like animals on the way back."

"Alcohol." Ginny says, smiling.

"Bringing people together since 1169," George chimes. Everybody giggles as he joins us, passing everyone their drinks, my wine an odd scarlet colour.

I take a sip and feel an overwhelming urge to grimace. Very, very bitter. But I was warned so I suck it up.

"Actually, alcohol like wine and beer can be traced as far back as 7000 BC. Practically since the beginning of mankind. This is not bad by the way, George," Hermione pipes up taking a sip of her beverage.

"You really do know everything, don't you?" George muses, shaking his head.

"I try." She's a bit red in the face, I imagine she can't help her bursts of knowledge.

"Now if only you could work on foreseeing the future, god knows that we need a replacement to Trelawney," George sits down next to Verity and Potter. "And we wouldn't have almost put one of our friends in danger. I'm really sorry all of you for taking you over there, especially you Harry. No Quidditch players, and tons of press. It just sounded like fun, and Mr. Gold comes in all the time to buy things for his nephews. Thought he was a nice bloke."

"Don't worry about it, he likely thought we'd love the attention," Potter says bitterly.

"Yeah, nothing _did _go wrong really. I already knew people would talk if I showed up with Draco, I guess I just didn't think establishments really were allowed to have journalists roam freely like that," Hermione explains, I suppose in an attempt to make George feel better.

"They aren't," I say, crossing my legs, trying to find a more comfortable stance. "I'm sure it's somewhat illegal to measure no authority over the press. And in any case, even if it's not, it certainly is to not have any security on every floor of the place."

"Don't remind me," Verity spits angrily.

"Shh, it's okay," George says, rubbing her upper arm.

I think her anger is justified. If Hermione had been in there, anyone I care about really, I'd probably pop their head off.

"Sorry," I apologize. "Anyways, a drinking game? It may surprise you to know I've never played one. Hey, Granger, we could play Q & A, and every time we refrain from answering we drink instead of telling a story."

I start chuckling, and Hermione's lips curl into a knowing grin. The rest murmur about what 'Q & A' is.

"That's actually a good idea, Draco."

"Always the tone of surprise." She sticks her tongue out at me and begins to tell everyone how to play her camp game. They seem to like it.

"Yeah that sounds fun! I'll go first, yeah?" Ginny asks, looking round at us.

"Go easy," Hermione begs. Ginny gets a wry, slightly drunk smile plastered on her face.

"Not a chance."

* * *

"Are you kidding me? Your most embarrassing moment is getting a question wrong in class? " George splutters to Hermione, who puts her hands out like that's the most obvious answer.

We've been playing for an hour now, the questions have gradually become more personal the more hammered we get.

I'm into my third glass of wine. Everyone else is on their third glass too. Hermione is starting to sway, her cheeks rouged and her eyes a bit squinty.

"Merlin, you have an odd grasp of 'embarrassment'. Your turn Malfoy."

My most embarrassing moment? _Ugh._

"Not that I'd like a reminder, but when that lout Moody turned me into a ferret." I grimace as Potter attempts to hide his giggling, his shoulders shaking giving him away.

"Technically that was Barty Crouch Junior, and he was crazy," Hermione says as if that should change my mind.

"Doesn't really change that he hexed me does it?" I mumble, and Ginny pats me on the back quite uncomfortably. She's probably just as sloshed as Lanka was so I say nothing.

"Alright, alright Mr. Martyr, my turn for the question. Where's the strangest place, perhaps naughtiest, you've done the nasty? I'll go first. Downstairs in the front window," he wiggles his eyebrows.

Verity slaps him on the arm. "_George. _Guess you already know mine."

I chance a look at Hermione who is biting her lip, dreading when she'll be on the line.

"Uh, a garden shed?" Potter tries. Ginny busts out laughing, George looks mildly impressed mingled with disgust.

"Oh yeah! Ginny told us you did that this afternoon," Verity chuckles. Potter raises his eyebrow at his girlfriend, wondering just how much she reveals to her friends. "Uh, Hermione?"

"Nowhere," she states simply. "Never had it, so I guess I drink?"

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," Ginny dismisses her as she takes a tentative sip, letting any unwarranted humiliation fly by. "I agree with Harry, although I still think that my childhood bedroom is odd. Draco?"

"Uh," oh god, Hermione's eyes are trained on me. But if I drink, she'll be more suspicious. "Slytherin girls dormitory."

George chokes on his beer. "No way! How?"

I glimpse at my Gryffindor minx, who is just as curious as her friends. I gulp and enlighten them, knowing I'll regret this somewhere in the future if I get into an argument with her.

"Sixth year, Quidditch match, us against the Gryffindors. I wasn't on the team that year. And I'd been ignoring Pansy for a long time. I didn't really break up with her, but I never saw her during in the summer. I was stressed about, well, you know what, but she didn't care. She pulled me aside and basically said she wanted me, didn't care where she stood and to come upstairs. Everyone was gone." Ginny emits a low whistle.

"A regular old fox, are you?" Verity nudges me.

"Hardly," I say, rubbing my face with my palm. "Pansy just likes to get what she wants."

"Did you shag quite often then?"

"_Verity. _Play nice. Doubtless that Hermione wants to know that._"_

"Thanks, mate," I say and he winks.

"Alright, now your turn Harry."

"Alright," Potter says, lolling his head back on the sofa. "What's your patronus form?" he asks without gusto.

"Oh, _Harry, _you're so lame. You know all ours," Ginny whines, knocking back her drink.

"Not Verity's. Or Draco's. Better than any sex questions. Mine is a stag, now Hermione."

_Draco?_

"You called him Draco, proud of you. Mine's an otter." Hermione points to him with a finger, and he looks at me, silently communicating that she is gone. I hold in laughter.

"God, seriously? Let's not do this," Ginny says. "Mine's a horse, George's is a coyote. Verity's is a…"

"I've never learned properly actually, mine's never gotten corporeal," she shrugs a bit embarrassed.

"Don't worry, it's really hard. I only can do it because of Harry teaching me. We all can, right?" George and Hermione nod, Potter flushes pink. "Draco, can you do it?"

"I'm afraid I'm drinking on this one." I slug back some wine, and they exchange glances.

"Why? What's so bad about it?" George prods.

"It's embarrassing. And yes, I have managed to get a corporeal one."

"Tell us! _Tell us, tell us, tell us!" _

"Nope."

"Aw, you suck," Verity pouts. "Alternative punishment; can you go check on Ron and Lanka? It's been an hour, just want to make sure they're not dead."

"I drank, that's my punishment. No dice. It's your house."

"George?" she pleads.

"Not a chance. And if it's my house, my rules. And I say we don't have to go. How about you Harry?"

"I don't fancy seeing my best friend in a potentially awkward position."

"Oh, I'll do it you babies." Hermione confidently stands tall, wobbling when she gets up too fast and stumbles over to the hallway and then to the guestroom.

Everyone is watching the show as she knocks tentatively on the door. After a few seconds she glances over to us and shrugs. As soon as she turns the knob and pokes her head in she emits a muffled shriek.

"_Sorry, sorry." _

She scampers back over to us giggling and slides to kneel behind me, wrapping her arms around my neck. "_Ahhhh," _she laughs into my neck.

I grab her arms with my hands: "What's wrong?"

"Were they going at it?" Verity's eyes and mouth are wide open, hoping for the worst.

"_Completely naked," _she mumbles into my shoulder. "Thrusting."

"Gross!" Ginny pulls a face.

"WOO, go Ron! _Weasley, Weasley, Weasley!" _George pumps his fist up and down and screeches.

Verity slaps him. "Don't make them feel awkward. It's gonna be weird enough in the morning."

"Speaking of which, it's almost 2. Maybe we should call it a night? Unless you want to drink some more?" Potter asks a bit tiredly. He looks at Ginny and she smiles a bit coyly at him, moving next to him now that Granger is out of the way.

"No, no, that's fine. We have to work tomorrow anyways," George yawns. "Harry, Gin, you guys were going to use the pull out couch, yeah? Hermione, Draco, I'm not sure where…."

"Actually, we were just going to go back to my house," Hermione explains, letting go of me to crawl over and rest her head on my lap.

I notice they all exchange looks, Potter disapproving and the girls with a knowing smile.

"How are you going to get there? The Cauldron's fireplace is closed this time of night."

"Oh, I can Apparate us safely. I've done it a few times now to her house."

"Are you perfectly aware of all your faculties? That's a lot of wine, mate. _Cause Hermione certainly isn't," _George asks shielding his mouth with a hand.

"Oh shut it, George," Hermione scolds, smiling with her eyes closed.

"Ooh, testy when you're intoxicated are you?" She makes a farting noise at him with her tongue. He shakes his head.

"Well, _I'm_ fine. Really. I've, regretfully, drank quite a bit more in my life," I say and give him a reassured look.

"If you say so, just be safe please, get her home alright."

"Promise, cross my heart. Come on Hermione, let's get up." I pull her upwards and she sits up. I stand up and manage to also get her proper.

"I'll get your coat and things," Verity offers, walking into the bedroom I presume.

"_Can you walk?_" I whisper into her ear as she falls into me.

"_May-beee," _she giggles.

I shake my head as everyone comes to say good bye. "No more vodka for you."

"Hey, you're not the boss of me. It's not my fault Dumbledore tastes so good," she juts a finger into my chest.

Ginny starts snickering along with George as she gives them a farewell hug.

Verity comes back and helps Granger put on her coat and winter boots while handing me her bag of regular clothes and the roses I gave her.

"See you guys later," she says, grinning from ear to ear.

I wave as I open the door, unsure of what to say. "Bye. Thanks."

"Bye everyone," Hermione waves much more enthusiastic than me.

"Don't get too naughty tonight now," Ginny calls.  
We hear Potter caution his girlfriend before we shut the door. ("_Ginny, _don't give them ideas.")

I shrink the flowers and put them in the bag. When I get her safely outside, I grab both her hands so she'll be steady when we Apparate.

I concentrate heavily and we pop into the stratosphere. We reappear seconds later onto her front porch.

"Thanksss, Draco," she slurs, apparently her drunkenness now in full effect. "The key's under – under the rug, hold on."

She bends down but stumbles back onto her arse.

"Merlin you're done, here I'll do it." I retrieve it and open the door for her. She staggers into the house after getting herself up and immediately coos at her mangy beast.

I lock the door and take off my shoes and jacket to see her leaning against her kitchen island and petting Crookshanks.

"Isn't he so _cutteeee? Who's my little baby?_ C'mere Draco, come pet 'im._"_

"No thanks. Still recovering from his last attack," I smirk, walking over to her sink and observing her. She's quite hilarious while wasted.

"Oh, don't be childish. He's the most sweetest animal anyone could have."

"Not anyone, he's the sweetest animal _you _could have. He only likes you, remember."

"He'll like you eventually, just needs to get to know you more, here look." She grabs my hand and guides it to the fur.

"No, no, _no," _I try to pull away but she yanks me towards the cat. It begins to purr for a moment and I think miraculously he's calm but the next second he's turned his fat head and taken a swipe at me.

It growls a menacing _grr _before jumping off the couch and disappearing into the back rooms.

"See? He _hates _me," I chuckle. She puts my hand to her mouth and kisses it.

"Sorry. Wanna go upstairs? Call it a night? Or maybe have one more drink?" she asks hopefully, spinning around to scan her kitchen.

"No, _no," _I repeat again, grabbing her shoulders. "I think we should get you to bed."

"Okay. Let's go!" I laugh as I lead her up to her room by pushing her back. I release her when we get up there and she falls on her bed.

"So uh, where should I sleep? I can go downstairs on your couch or something…"

"Don't be silly, you can come here." She pats the spot next to her.

The gods are tempting me, aren't they?

"That's not such a great idea, I don't think," I explain as I sit down on her desk chair.

"Why not?" she asks sitting up. "My parents are coming back tomorrow late, this is the last few hours we have together, don't you wanna make the most of it?"

Her eyes are so glazed, a goofy grin on her face. She's completely adorable, damn her.

"Because I'm horny, Granger. That's why. And as much as I want to kiss you all night, I don't want to do something you'll regret and then force me out of here in the morning when you remember."

"Well maybe I'm horny too, _Malfoy."_

_What?_

"W-what?" Suddenly I feel hot around the collar. Very hot.

She walks over to me, swaying her hips ridiculously and straddles my lap.

"_You heard me," _she whispers in my ear. "Don't you want to touch me?"

Oh, holy shit.

"Of course I do, it's what I've wanted since the beginning of the year, but now that it's real, I don't want to mess it up and -"

She kisses me to shut me up and places a finger to my lip. "I never said we were going to _do_ it silly, but we never got proper time to make out today, have we?"

"No, I guess not."

"Yes, making out at a raucous club is not satisfying enough." She smooches me again, sneaking her tongue down my throat.

"Wait – Hermione," I can't believe I'm pushing her away but I can't be irrational right now.

"What exactly do you mean by horny? Like, kiss you horny, or touching you boobs like…?"

She giggles incessantly. Whenever girls do this I feel so small.

"I'm _serious, _I really don't want to mess this up. I don't want to be rude, but you've drank quite a bit and your decision making filter is broken._"_

"And I'm serious. Look, just because I'm determined in school and about my friends doesn't mean I can't loosen up."

"I know, trust me, just…"

"Just shush. _I have a secret to tell you_. Come here." She gets up off me, looks down at my crotch, smiles, and then jumps on her mattress.

"A secret, huh?" I feel the alcohol rush to my head, my balancing inhibitions falling lower on the scale.  
"Mhmm."

I go to sit on the edge and she folds her arms around my waist from behind like she did at George's. "_I touched myself thinking of you yesterday morning."_

I swallow the lump in my throat, my cock threatening to rip my pants. "R-really?"

"Yes," she kisses my neck. "But I was unsuccessful in getting off."

"Why is that?" I distract myself by asking questions, resisting the urge to rip her clothes off again, unable to stop picturing her rubbing her lovely clit naked a hundred different ways.

"Felt too good, couldn't handle it. You know I've never been able to come by myself, I've always had to use, you know, 'help'."

_Fuck. _This is excruciating. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know. I just feel really weird…I just want you to touch me," she murmurs, biting my neck and sucking on it, surely marking a love bite.

I tug her off me, and turn around to face her. "Is that what you really want?"

"Yeah, I do."

I pull her into me, and she snogs me senselessly for a few moments before leaning away.

"Sorry, just give me a second, these tights are so uncomfortable."

"Oh…okay." I watch, eyes glued as she spreads her legs out and unrolls her tights from her body.

"On second thought, this whole dress is really squishing my torso."

Oh, hell no. No, no, no ,no.

Red alert.

This is not something Hermione Granger would do.

She pulls the dress over her head to reveal her bare breasts to me. I didn't mention anything to her in case it made her feel self-conscious while out, but it was really obvious she wasn't wearing a bra, especially when giving her a hug.

But god, are they spectacular. Practically glistening in the moonlight.

And now she's in just panties, a tasteful silky plain black pair.

"So what do you think of them?" she asks coquettishly, staring at her own magnificent tits.

"They look as good as they feel," I spill before I can stop myself, gazing at the erect dark pink nipples, small and perfect.

She titters as she leans in and pulls me on top of her, fiercely snogging me, shoving off my blazer and snaking her hands up my shirt. She wraps her legs around my hips and tangles her fingers in my hair and _goddamit _I want to stroke her everywhere.

I decide on putting my hands on her waist, propping myself up on my elbows. After a few minutes, she rolls me over so she's straddling me once again. I guess I was right when I said she was dominant. She looks at me, making my insides scream and drags my palms to her breasts. Fuck, if she wants this, I must oblige.

"_Uh." _She moans so deliciously as I massage her tender breasts, pinching her nipples. She starts grinding slowly over my pants. I drag her down to kiss me while I touch her, making me so turned on I can barely stand it.

"Take off your shirt, I want to - I wanna feel you." She grabs the hem and hurriedly twists it over my head, discarding it on the ground.

She runs her hands along my body, my nerves feeling shocked at every touch. She moves her mouth down to suck on my chest. It's actually a bit painful. She's getting really into it though, going a mile a minute.

Suddenly she sits up, a frown on her face.

"W-what's the matter?" I ask out of breath, about to explode.

"I feel dizzy," she pouts, placing a palm on her forehead. "I need to lie down."

"Okay, well let's get you off me." My surreal dream world is popped into reality. I nudge her soft thigh so she can gently lay on her pillows. "Want me to get you a shirt? Maybe water?"

"No- no, I'm okay. Just, can you cuddle me please?"

"Yeah, of course I can." She smiles and thanks me as I pull the blanket over us and she curls her body into me.

"We can make out in a minute, okay. That was really nice. I just need a minute. A minute," she repeats.

I fight an urge to laugh. Girls are so strange when they consume alcohol.

"Can I ask you a question?" she suddenly sounds serious.

"Anything." I try to keep apprehension out of my voice.

"What _is _your patronus?" Oh, thank god.

"A peacock," I smirk.

"Wait, what?" she asks, amusement in her tone, keeping her head against my chest.

"Yeah, I'm serious. A self-important, conceited, pure white peacock. It's really embarrassing actually. You best not tell anyone."

"Promise," she laughs into me.

"If Potter ever mentions it, you're dead meat."

"I know...I can't keep my eyes open," she mumbles.

"You're exhausted silly. So keep them closed and good night," I say into her hair, kissing her head and holding her tight.

"You're the best," she mutters into my neck. I can't stop grinning and I wait until her breathing becomes steadied before I get out of bed.

I settle her back in, grab my shirt and go into her bathroom. I shut the door and unbuckle my pants for a quick wank. That girl will be the death of me, I swear.

I finish quite quickly and flush the toilet, spent.

I look at my reflection before I put my shirt back on to see my chest covered in hickeys as well as my neck. Might regret it tomorrow.

Barely a week and we've come to this.

I think that clearly this means Granger and I are more than compatible, because she wouldn't do this unless she likes me, and I would do this, but I would've done more had I not cared about her feelings.

My only regret is that I didn't get to pet her pussy, I know she would've let me if I tried.  
All well, at least she won't get upset in the morning.

But who knows, maybe Hogwarts won't be so bad. I'll see her every day and maybe we can sneak off the grounds.

After everything blows over.

God, no, it'll be horrible.

I shake my head, zip up my pants and go back in her room to her loveseat, lying back on it as comfortably as I can. I'd like to sleep next to her but she's practically naked and I don't want her to wake up like that in case she doesn't recall all this.

I stay awake, thinking about school, thinking about tomorrows paper, and about how strange this entire week has truly been until I nod off….all in all, a solid night.

* * *

_**Trouble in Gryffindor Paradise?**_

Reported by Imelda Ipswitch for the _Daily Prophet._

Spotted: The Golden Trio with _Draco Malfoy? _

_Last night I had the privilege of being invited to the grand opening of the hot new club _Dragonblood, _located in the renovated Knockturn Alley_. _In attendance was none other than Harry Potter himself. While he brought along Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and his girlfriend Ginny Weasley, another guest was with them. Previous Death Eater Draco Malfoy came as Miss Granger's date, but their outing was anything but romantic ._

_Pictured above are the pair clearly feuding in private at the bar. Earlier in the night, Malfoy was seen taking shots with Miss Weasley [pictured left], but he is not the only guilty party. Perhaps his actions were in retaliation to Miss Granger walking off with The Boy Who Lived [pictured below right], upstairs to the notorious 'make out' section of the establishment, which would explain Miss Weasley's co-operation in getting drunk with her boyfriends school nemesis. Nobody saw Potter and Granger's actions up there, who knows what escalated? I'd say the looks on their faces say it all. Ginny better watch her back._

_Furthe ruining poor Miss Granger's night, Ronald 'Ron' Weasley (Granger's ex) brought an exceedingly attractive girl along with him. Reportedly Russian, the girl was a friend of George Weasley's (of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes) girlfriend, from her Beauxbatons days [pictured at the bottom]. They were heavily intoxicated, couldn't keep their hands off each other. My sources tell me that Miss Granger is filled with jealousy at the sight of her ex with another girl. She is 'merely using Malfoy as a ploy to get him back', using a refuted bad boy for attention. It is apparent that Malfoy too is using her for her rep. He only wants to be seen with her if it's in a good light. Friends notably from Gryffindor confronted her for her safety with her new beau, but she yelled at them and Malfoy led her away, isolating her from sane minds. As soon as the group saw me taking a few snaps of the wild night, they abruptly left, not even an hour later, snubbing the owner who invited them. How rude._

_Granger better get her act together or she'll find herself alone, this relationship looks soon to be a failure._


	42. Azkaban

_**I used to sleep without a single stir,**_  
_**'Cause I was about my father's work.**_

_**Well take me out tonight,**_  
_**This ship of fools I'm on will sink.**_  
_**A milestone around my neck,**_  
_**Be my breath, there's nothing I wouldn't give.**_

**_- Millstone_, Brand New**

* * *

Intense coursing pain runs through my head and lurching sick is gurgling in my belly, but the only concern I have right this second is…did I do anything stupid last night?

And as I slowly become alert in my morning daze, noticing my clothes on the floor, Crookshanks purring next to my head and realizing I'm bare chested with only panties on…I concur that yes, yes I did.

Damn it.

I try to sit up so I can retrieve my bathrobe hanging on my closet door but I'm overwhelmingly overcome with nausea so I fall back onto my pillows, giving up. I glance at my alarm; it's only 11 o'clock. Thank Merlin, we still have hours before Mum and Dad said they'd be home. I have time to deal with a potential mess, whatever this is.

I don't think I did anything _too _bad, definitely not sex, though I'm horrified still at anything else I could've done….I close my eyes to try and remember it all. The last thing I recall is playing a drinking game.  
Yes, we did that at George's for a while…we then came home.

I drank three Albus Dumbledore's. No, four. I recollect making a stupid comment about it.

'_It's not my fault Dumbledore tastes so good.'_

Oh, GOD.

I groan, cursing myself silently for being an idiot and consuming too much alcohol much too fast.

"Oh, sweetheart, what did I _do?" _I ask my cat as he nudges me with his nose.

Petting Crookshanks is somewhere in my memory bank, actually….and _peacocks _for some reason.

No, wait, there were things before the peacocks. My foggy mind is slowly clearing -

Intense snogging. Taking off my tights and dress. Taking off _his _shirt. Sucking supple skin. Telling him that I was horny. Dragging his hands to caress my breasts.  
And _he_ was the one who protested.  
I was the one who wanted it.

I look down at myself and realize that Draco put me to bed, my covers are on me properly and he's not lying next to me. Where is he?

I try to get up, tentatively this time around, and spot him on my loveseat on the other side of my room. His legs are sprawled over the end and his head's leaning against my desk, fast asleep. It's really adorable.

I sigh, unsure of what to do. Because I can't get up and I need his assistance, but I feel bad waking him. I mean , it's too late now, he can't unsee my breasts, so I don't care if he helps me walk or get a shirt. I just want this pain to go away. I'm guessing he knows how to deal with a hangover besides sleeping it off. I'm not that tired at all, just queasy.

The last time I drank more than a glass was at the celebration party for Harry a month after the end of the war. I remember Ron and I were having a good time, felt myself able to be careless finally for once, and just 2 flutes of champagne had me quite tipsy. But I was fine the next day and I certainly didn't grind on anyone….

I really hope I wasn't too sloppy.

Whatever, that is not the task at hand I need to worry about. What I need is a giant glass of water. Ginny was saying last night that I had to stay hydrated to avoid sickness in the morning but Draco and I didn't even finish ours before we started making out.  
_Hormones._

A wave of nausea suddenly hits me and I know I need to take action soon.

"_Draco_," I croak, the sound of my voice definitely not loud enough.

I clear my throat and try again; "_Draco!"_

He twitches slightly, but all he does is loll his head onto his shoulder instead of against the desk. I try one more time, this time pushing myself up so my voice can get better coverage: "_Draco, please wake up!"_

Nothing.

All well…I need water. I use all my might to push myself out of bed, and stand on my feet, feeling woozy immediately.  
I'm about to grab a shirt from my wardrobe when I'm completely overcome with dry heaves, my stomach sloshing so hard that I feel like I can't stand up straight.

I'm going to vomit. _I'm going to vomit._

"_Oh no."_

I run to the bathroom that's a part of my room and fling the lid of the toilet open. I fall to my knees, clutch the toilet and feel my insides erupt, the contents of the night before leaving me. I must have heaved about three times now, but every time I think I'm done I smell the bile and it triggers another go. Lord, this is disgusting.

I finally spit out the last of it and flush, still hanging on because I feel so awful I can't stand up.

Suddenly I feel hands on my bare shoulders causing me to massively flinch and knock Draco's chin with my head. _Ouch._

"_Ah!"_

I look back to see him standing up and rubbing his jaw, inexplicably smiling at me. I notice he has a few hickeys on his neck and grimace. "You alright, Granger?"

I turn myself around and cross my legs on the cold floor, leaning against the toilet, wrapping my hands around my bare breasts. "No. I feel horrible, actually. I'm sorry for waking you up and um, hitting you in the face."

"It's not a problem," he says gently, shutting the door so he has more space in the limited confines of the room. "Can I get you something?"

"I was going to ask for water, actually. But can you pass me my robe hanging behind you." He spins around and passes it to me so I can cover myself with 'dignity'.

"Do you feel as knackered as I do?" I ask when I'm fully covered.

He chuckles and sits down against the door. "No, not really. I do feel a bit out of it, but my head isn't pounding and I don't feel the need to vomit," he winks.

"Thanks for reminding me," I laugh. "Were we really stupid last night when we came home? Was I?"

He tilts his head and smirks again.  
"What's so hilarious to you, mister? You keep grinning at me." I say, getting a bit embarrassed at his reaction to me, especially since I'm practically naked.

"How far back do you not remember anything?"

"I remember trying to seduce you and taking off your shirt. And peacocks. Why do I remember peacocks?" He snickers and shakes his head. "What!"

"We were a little stupid, Hermione," he replies, looking at me in the eyes. "You said you were horny and I tried to resist, but I couldn't really, given what you look like. I made sure you wanted to make out, then you took off your dress and tights and came at me, giving me about 20 hickeys, I'd say. Luckily you became too dizzy after about 10-15 minutes and fell back wherein you asked me what my patronus is; a peacock, and then fell asleep. I didn't want you to freak out in the morning, so I moved to your loveseat."

"I did _not _give you twenty hickeys!" I exclaim, smacking his arm.  
And a _peacock?_

"Yes, you did." He pulls his shirt up to reveal little red and purple marks. I groan. "Don't fret, it's fine. Also, I know you're thinking about the peacock because you're smirking, but you promised me last night that you wouldn't tell anyone, so _shhh," _he puts a finger to his lips.

I beam. "Don't worry, your dirty secret is safe with me. Now, seeing as I'm in the bathroom already I kind of want a bath, you think that will help?"

"Yes, a shower usually makes me feel a bit better. How about you do that and I'll try to figure out how to make coffee? Coffee is great for hangovers."

"That's sweet. The coffee maker is on the counter and the coffee grounds are in the purple clay jar."

"Okay. Sugar or milk?"

"A bit of sugar and a splash of milk," I smile. "Thanks."

"No, thank _you. _Though you don't remember much, last night was awesome." He leans in and kisses me, then gets up and goes downstairs. "_Nice tits by the way."_

I shake my head and get up to draw the bath, pouring some bubbles in it. I go out to grab a book from my shelf, choosing _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them. _When the tub is full I pour myself some water into a glass by the sink and settle in. The nice hot water feels amazing on my skin and as I push my whole head under I am overwhelmed by calm.

As I resurface I just relax and lie back, wiping my hands on a towel and taking the book to find the last chapter I was on.

…

"Draco are you down here?"  
It's been about 45 minutes and I feel completely refreshed. I've gotten myself dressed and I'm walking downstairs to see Draco sitting on the couch with no coffee, drinking tea.

"Yeah, I tried and failed. Sorry." I get down into the kitchen and see the coffee maker in the sink, grounds still sprinkled on the counter that reeks of burning beans. "I made you chamomile though. And toast!"

I chuckle to myself and grab some aspirin from the cabinet. Then I walk over and plop myself down next to him and rub his arm. "You'd make a horrible housewife."

He frowns. "I know. I'm sorry. I tried to do it but I ended up burning it _three _times and then I didn't know how to properly wash cause I didn't want to break it and –"

"It's fine, it's fine. I can't blame you for your terribly un-self-reliant upbringing. But we really need to teach you how to do everyday things, muggle or not." I pick up a mug of tea, still nice and warm, and swallow the pills.

He leans into me. "I know. Trust me when I say I feel like an inadequate boyfriend after what? A week. And you're tremendous for coming with me tomorrow, that is if you still want to."

I grab his free hand and rub the skin around his knuckles. "I don't _want_ to, but you need moral support. It's not like I'm going with you to see him in the flesh, I'll just be going with you and waiting when you come back."

"Like that still isn't worth something," he rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around me. "I should probably go soon, yeah?"

"Mm, my parents said they'd be home around 4:30, so in a bit. I don't know if I'm up to school work, I doubt you will be after tomorrow. Maybe I'll just work on questions tonight?"

"Okay, well I'll practice my arse off, and we can always do work at school, we'll still have 3 weeks," he says, trying to muster up some cheer.

"It'll just be more difficult to organize time," I murmur, "But yes, definitely."

"Alright. Sounds like a plan."

We both sigh and I slowly lie down on the sofa, my head still dizzy, and he follows suit. He ends up spooning me and we rest together, peacefully.

* * *

_The next day_

"_Will you be alright darling_?" mother whispers to me as I get my coat on next to the fireplace in the hallway.

"Yes," I say firmly, though inside I'm not so positive.  
She spent all of last night fretting about me going and insisting that I don't. I can't say I blame her given what happened a few months ago but I need to make sure father's alright. As much as I loathe the person he is, I know deep down he has feelings. Just no pleasant way of displaying them.

"Look, I don't want to be late. I have to go to Hermione's now so we make sure to get there within the time limit." You get a scheduled 5 minutes to enter by Floo or else the barrier closes and you must make another 'appointment'. You can't Apparate in a designated spot, brooms and any other mode of air transport is also not allowed. Kind of makes you curious about what happened in order for them to be so strict about visiting.

"Oh, alright. I'm sorry I can't go with you. I will soon, it's just –"

"I know. You're not ready," I say, looking at her anguished face with reassuring eyes. "_I_ _know."_

She tries to give me a shaky smile. "Thank you, love. Tell Hermione that I also thank her greatly. And I mean _really_, Draco."

"Will do." I grin at her quite fakely, but convincingly, before I grab a handful of powder. "I'll be fine, don't worry." She looks at me like she has something to say, perhaps a good luck, but she closes her lips and simply watches on.

"Hermione Granger's House, 22 Parkhill Drive, Camden."

I disappear into the darkness, falling down through the tunnels for a moment until I pop up in Granger's home. As I steady my balance she's right in front of me.

"Hi." Her voice is small, stressed.

Her parents nowhere to be seen from what I can gather, praise Allah.

"Hey."

She looks extremely fidgety, as I imagine I would be in her spot, and is wearing all black like we're going to a funeral. I didn't realize how tense I was until now, but seeing her nervous only elevates the knots in my stomach and the ongoing battle in my skull.

Hermione coming with me will help my sanity a little bit, but she can't change what my father may or may not say. I just feel awful she has to visit this fucking place, it's bad enough she saw how horrific it is in my own damn mind.

"It's 10:58," she says to me, gauging my reaction. Two minutes. I reach out my hand and pull her into the fireplace with me.

"So how was your night?" I ask, attempting to distract her from thinking about where she's about to go. "Did your parents get in okay?"

She nods. "Yes, yes they had a good time. I just read mostly, finished more questions," she titters anxiously. "They're having lunch, in case you were wondering. I told them we had to, you know, 'do something for the project,' and that we were going out."

She swallows hard, pauses for a moment and her tone is up one octave. "I hope you don't mind, but I also said your parents were separating and that you were in a fragile state, wanting to talk about it alone. Which prompted Mum to get Dad to leave us be today. I didn't lie about anything, Mum thought I was hinting they leave by using our project as an excuse. It's good though, I _think_ they wouldn't fancy me going to a prison," she laughs a bit hysterically.

"_Oh_." Merlin, now _everyone _knows about it, ugh. "No, no that's ok. It's not like it's a secret anymore. Good thinking." I take a deep breath, settling my insides.

But I can't hold my hesitancy in. I turn frantically towards Hermione and splutter pathetically. "You know, there's still time to back out; you don't have to do this. I appreciate the gesture but –"

"But _nothing_, Draco," she says firmly, startling me, making me straighten up. "I said I'd go, and I will. I'm nervous but I can handle it."

"Okay," I say quietly, giving in. She grabs my palm, eyebrows knitted, probably now worried at my unusual submissiveness. "11 yet?"

"11:01," she affirms. We both glance at each other for a moment before reaching for the floo.

"Ready?" I ask. She murmurs a 'mhm'. "On 3; 1, 2 3 – _Azkaban Prison_."

We say it loudly in unison, and my heart drops to my stomach as I clutch her hand, travel for what feels like a while until we land in a hearth, and get magically pushed onto a rug. Two guards rush up immediately.

"Names," a huge, muscular man asks us. His grey robe is emblazoned with the scarlet 'A', wand at the ready, club on his belt.

"Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger," I state.

"Wands," a fatter guard next to Hermione commands lazily, just another routine to him.

I take mine from my pocket as does my lady and we give them to him to hold. She's looking around silently dismayed at the claustrophobic area we've found ourselves in, and I thank god she only has to see the next room over.

"_Telum declarium," _the first guard incants over us, presumably to check for concealed weapons, causing Hermione to jump. Purple sparks cascade over us but nothing happens.

"All clear. Go ahead to the clerk at the desk at the entrance to the cells." The huge man ushers us out and the fatter one smiles at us while putting our wands in a cabinet.

Hermione looks at me for guidance so I grab her arm and guide her around the corner to the main chamber, a cold stone-walled and cobbled floor room with steel chairs for patrons to wait in. Wanted posters fill any space they can on a bulletin board next to the vaulted doorway that leads into the jails. A man seated behind an archway of thick bars is reading paperwork, underneath a crooked sign that reads: _Visitors._

"Well this looks…inviting." I let escape a small snicker from my lips at Hermione's apprehension, and she gives me a wobbly laugh.

"Don't worry, you only have to stay here for a few minutes, promise. They only let in a few visitors at a time so no awkward conversations or looks," I whisper.

"I guess I'll just…sit down?"

"Yeah. I won't be long." She gives me a comforting grin and goes to sit down, but I grab her shoulder and spin her to me. "_Hermione_. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replies, looking at me sadly.

"My mother told me to relay her thank you too."

"Oh," she shrugs awkwardly. "Tell her you're welcome?"

"Look, she meant it. _Seriously_," I emphasize when she becomes skeptical. "And _I _mean it. I just. You're being a friend right now, a real one. Not a girlfriend, not somebody 'obligated' to go. Somebody kind and caring. Nobody has been there for me like you have, and even if they were and had a shitty way of showing it, I wasn't ready to open up. So thank you."

She looks flattered, unable to respond, so I lean in and kiss her softly.

"I'll see you soon."

I turn away from her and gather my wits as I go to the counter. The clerk looks up from his paperwork and sighs.

"Draco Malfoy here to see Lucius Malfoy in cell 315 at 11 am?" he asks, checking his clipboard.

"Er – Yes."

"Go on in." He flicks a switch up on his desk and a buzz sounds. I've been through this before, but the loud crank of the door unlocking always scares me. The entire slab falls down quickly like a guillotine and I walk over the line into the jails to the guard waiting to escort me.

I glance one last look at Hermione before the door shoots up into the ceiling again. She gives me a small wave and I a weak smile.

"Alright let's go," the guard says, a younger man, and begins to walk down the harrowed hallways.

After a few minutes of silence and disorderly jeers at me, the visitor, the guard pipes up.

"Was that Hermione Granger?" he asks me, quite inappropriately seeing as we're passing cells of sleeping inmates and tired souls.

"Yes," I answer curtly.

"And you're Malfoy's kid, uh?" I repeat an affirmative. "So you and she a thing now?"

I say nothing.  
"She's way out of your league, you know."

I ball my fists but continue ignoring him.

"I saw it in the paper, you don't have to be so quiet. Come on, I'm trying to ease you up."

"Look, I just want to see my father, I don't want to be interrogated about my love life speculation from last week."

"Not just last week. You were in the _Prophet_ last night son, didn't you know that?"  
I groan. _Lovely._

Tension builds up inside of me even more dangerously than it already was. More bullshit to deal with now.

"No, I didn't." Mother must've been too busy to bother reading it and I was too hungover.

"Oh. Well it was _pretty _bad."

I roll my eyes, knowing he's waiting for me to ask why.

"_Why_? Why was it so bad?" I ask as we round the last corner into the more private and 'expensive' cells.

"Said that Hermione was cheating on you with Harry Potter, you two were fighting at the bar. Said that you did shots with Ginny Weasley to retaliate."

_What!?_

"_Well that's a load of garbage_," I mutter.

He chuckles as he leads me to my father, even more edgy and strained than when I got here, hoping to Merlin that Lucius does not request the paper.

"Don't worry, that Imelda Ipswitch is a junior reporter to Rita Skeeter. She's just as overzealous and ridiculous as her. Lots of people probably don't believe her. Probably."

Yeah, that doesn't help.

"Anyways, here we are, I'll be waiting right here outside." He clears his throat and puts on a more official tone. "I am required by law to warn you that it says on Malfoy's rap sheet he's marked as having a noticeable bad temper, and to be cautious. But you're his son, he probably got that from the security checks or something."

I swallow hard.  
Guess that means I'm with security now.

"Yeah, _thanks,"_ I bark, as I look into the cell. He's lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

My escort unlocks the door and I tidy myself up as I walk in. I decided to wear a suit, for some reason I thought he'd find me more favourable looking like he always wanted me to dress.

"Visitor for you Malfoy!"

Lucius looks at me lazily, unsurprised that I stand before him, and I notice as I get closer he has today's paper on his bedside table. _Fuck._

"Hi father," I begin tentatively.

"Hi son," he says, not looking me in the eye.

"I guess they told you I was coming?" I try.

"Yes, they told me."

"So uh, how have you been?" I shuffle my feet, feeling extremely awkward.

He chuckles and sits up. "Awful. The usual, stuck in this cell. How silly of you to ask. How's your mother?"

"Uh." He asked me pleasantly, _not _sadly or angrily like he should have.

"I guess she finally told you, huh? That she's fucking some French prick? And marrying him no less."

He's grinning wildly, but he looks like how he did last year; completely exhausted with red bags under his eyes. Merlin, he's completely snapped.

"So how is she? Answer me."

"She's…" _Completely happy? Much better off? _"She's fine."

He laughs mirthlessly.

"_Fine. _And how are you, Draco – how _are you?_ Because it looks like," he grabs the paper and taps the front. "It looks like you're fraternizing with a lesser blood. I almost laughed myself into a coma when I saw you kissing her. Son, what are you thinking? Hermione Granger? Going to clubs with the Potter crew?"

_I'm being a teenager?_

"She makes me feel good," I shrug, talking really low.

"Feel_ good? _What are you, a child?"

_Yes?_

"I think that's a pretty important thing in a relationship…"

"No, what's important is stability. This won't last."

"_And how would you know_?" I say harshly. My father flickers his head back, surprised I'd have the nerve.

"How would I know? What, that it won't last? Good thinking initially on your part, maybe if it goes well for a little while people will think you aren't so bad….But because Harry Potter hates you and Ronald Weasley and his whole family hates _our _family. It's not going to work out. Don't you want your future to be _good? _Don't you want to be praised instead of loathed? You'll end up breaking her heart and everyone will call you a scoundrel, or she'll do the honours and you'll be weak."

What is he even _saying_? Is he for real?

Anger is boiling up inside of me, all these things that I've never had the courage to muster, things left unsaid. They're rising to the surface.

"No, actually, that isn't what you wouldn't know. But on that note, everything you're saying is complete _garbage_ anyways_."_

"_Garbage? _No, no. It's called reality. You're being immature, Draco."

"How am I being immature? What I meant when I yelled was how would you know _anything _important about relationships?"

"_Excuse me_?" he asks, sitting up straighter.

"There was a time I know you actually had feelings, but I think that's a time come and gone, never to return."

"What's _that _supposed to mean? You think at _eighteen_ you have it all figured out?"

"No, of course I don't, but I'm far more along than you ever were! All you've ever told me in life is to do things based on how I'll look to other people. Maybe I don't care about them anymore. Maybe I get to choose who I want to talk to or how I want to dress!" I say pulling at the fabric of my shirt.

"Draco, don't you talk to me –"

"No, _YOU _just shut up! Just shut the hell up!" I scream, stomping my foot on the ground. "And listen to me! For _once._"

"_Everything alright in there_?" the guard yells.

"Quite," my father calls back maliciously, folding his arms. "Go ahead on your childish tirade, then. I'm listening," he says condescendingly, though I can see in his expression he's unnerved.

"Mother told me when you two met you talked only to her for hours at a party, and owled her at school while you were back home. Mother told me that you used to love her like she damn well deserves, but you fucking let it go because you were obsessed about getting in everybody's good books. And as it turns out, you ended up in no one's. And guess what? I don't want to end up like you. Not anymore. I used to think you were the greatest man in the world, but look where we are, and look at what I've been through. What you've been through. Not even _once _have you given me an apology. One which I need, one that I ought to have. Mother has had to do it for you."

"Draco, if you're upset about the last time you visited t's because I'd received the letter from your mother about divorce papers only a few days before. I was completely out of my wits," he explains like it's an excusable reason, starting to get visibly riled.

"I don't bloody care! Stop making excuses! You told me I was _worthless, _told me nobody would ever care about me. What kind of a father says that to his son? Huh?"

He doesn't answer me.

"_Why do you think mother left you?_" I say breathlessly as his lips curl into a snarl. "Look, father, I know I'm no saint but I need somebody who gives a fuck about me besides my mother. Hermione cares, I know she does, and she's forgiven me in a short time not because she's naive like you'd have me believe, but because she's compassionate. She's a good person, unlike you or I. You think I want to be with her so people think I'm nice? _No_, I know what people say about me, and I am not going out of my way to prove them wrong. I want to be with her because I like her, because _she_ is nice, I couldn't give a fucking shit about what anyone thinks of me anymore frankly, because whatever they think I probably deserve. And I can own up to it. Why can't you?"

"Get the wool away from your sight, Draco, don't be an idiot. You _should _care what people think and this is puppy love, this is ridiculous."

"I'm not being an idiot! Maybe this is 'puppy love', but I'll never know for sure if I don't give it a chance."

"You're going to get hurt, Draco."

"So what? If I can deal with _Voldemort_ I can deal with a girl," I spit. He flinches. "You don't get it, do you? I'm not mad because you questioned Hermione and I. I'm mad because you won't admit I'm right. I'm mad that you won't say you're sorry. And I'm still _livid_ that you didn't change your stupid mind and became a Death Eater. That you put mother through this, that you put _me _through it. None of this would be happening right now!"

"Still livid? You think I'm not? I can't change that now, can I?!" he curses through his teeth. "It's too late."

"But it's not!" Fuck, I can feel tears. "Just open up to me. Ask for forgiveness. For once I'd like to come here and have an actual conversation that doesn't involve fighting!"

"Well it's not going to happen now is it, if you keep showing up with a written out speech! We _always_ fight! Why do you even bother?"

"Because I _love you!" _I shout, and this time I know I've broken through a barrier, I've shocked him still. "Don't you get it? It's not a forced outing, I elect to see you. I wouldn't come here if I didn't care at all about you. I know it must be awful for you for everything you've gone through, but you need to fucking change. Lord knows I've tried, I've tried to be a better person. Mother has t-," I sob, breaking off mid-sentence. "She has too."

"Maybe I can't." I look at him and his eyes are glistening. _Lucius Malfoy_ is holding back tears.

"Well you have to try. Nobody can do it for you." I walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He glances at my fingers on him, closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I'll help you."

"I don't want your help. Your my son, it shouldn't be this way."

"Even the best fall down sometimes."

He looks up at me and scrunches his features.

"I need time."

"Well I'll come back. Next break. Okay?"

"Oh yes, you're still going to that awful institution," he sneers.

"Yes. I'll owl you." I reply ignoring him. I look at him and he nods, then turns his back to me, hands over his face.

"Goodbye, Draco," he mumbles after a few moments of silence.

I signal the guard who opens the gate.  
"Bye then. I love you," I say gently as I leave.

I wait for a moment but nothing leaves his lips. So I walk uncomfortably with the guard down the hallway, trying not to weep. The guard has tact and stays quiet this time.

"See you next visit," he says uneasily as he lets me through the gate.

"Bye."

I walk on through to Hermione, who's sitting uncomfortably. When she sees me she stands up, seemingly relieved and grabs my arm to walk back to the fire. Happy to leave no doubt.

"How'd it go?" she asks softly as we make it back to the muscle and chub.

"Odd," I say vaguely. "I'll explain in a minute, where'd you want to go now? I was just going to go home, but…"

"You can always come back to my house. If you want, I mean," she clarifies as she feels me hesitating.

"Yeah maybe for a bit. I promised my mother I'd tell her about it straight away but it's only been like 15 minutes, hasn't it?"

"Yes. We can just talk for a bit, my parents probably won't be home until 2 or 3, if it matters."

"Where to?" the friendlier fat guard asks us, handing our wands back.

I nod at Hermione's questioning look.

"22 Parkhill Drive in Camden," Hermione instructs.

"Alright. Get into the fire," he commands, enchanting a metal casing so it flies up and uncovers the inside. "I'll grab the Floo for you."

I pull Hermione in with me.

"Say it together, can you do that? I hope your visit to Azkaban was pleasant," he says monotone, probably a handbook written line. "On 3: 1, 2, 3 –"

We repeat the address and the guard throws in the floo with perfect timing. For the third time today we travel through the network and end up in Hermione's home again.

"Weird."

"What's weird?"

"Your home is more familiar to me, and more comfortable than mine has felt in a long time," I say truthfully.

"Oh…," she pauses, surprised. "Well…Are you okay?"

God, she's looking at me with pity. My eyes must be red.

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm not going to burst into waterworks, I think I've run out of them at this point." I dust off my jacket , then take it off to go seat myself onto Hermione's couch. "Your parents are still gone? Just to be sure?"

She looks around to the door and relays a yes.

"They're not going to bite you, you know," she smiles, coming to sit next to me.

"I know. Just don't want them to see me with dried tears. Also, I guess this is irrelevant right now but- do they – I mean did you tell them…"

"No, not yet. I'm going to owl my mum back at Hogwarts that we're dating. My dad may have a coronary if he found out you slept in my bed and were unsupervised with me."

"Okay," I laugh.

Hermione puts an arm on my thigh. "Now don't change the subject; Why was visiting your father 'odd'?"

"Need to know everything, uh?"

"No, I'm very curious about this though," she blushes, smacking my leg lightly. "That man at the desk noticed me and started asking me these awful questions about our relationship. And then he said he hoped you knew we were both in the paper yesterday for your dad gets it delivered every day."

I chuckle.

"Yes, well the guard escorting me asked me about you too. They must've seen that I was coming today and when they saw you with me, it confirmed some suspicions."

"_Ugh_," she huffs.

"What did he ask you?"

"God, it was so uncomfortable. He asked me if I was cheating on you with Harry, which is just – how would he come to that conclusion?"

"The paper said you were cheating on me with Potter because we were fighting all night and that I was doing shots with Ginny to make you jealous. Allegedly."

"_Ugh!" _she frowns. "I can't believe I forgot about the paper. I was just so out of it yesterday."

"It's fine, I was too. My mother didn't either or she would've told me."

"Well hopefully nobody believes that foul woman. She's just as bad as Skeeter."

"Mm." I agree.

"So what happened, spill!" she begs. "If he saw the paper…did he yell? Was he mad at you for dating me?"

"Surprisingly no," I reply, still wondering about that myself. "He just asked me what I was thinking. Honestly I think he needs professional help, he was _laughing _about you and I, about my mother and Jean."

I explain the conversation we had in so many words, and as I tell her she looks more and more appalled, but impressed by me.

"I'm really glad you finally stood up to him. I just don't understand why he's so condescending. Doesn't he realise by now he was wrong?"

"I don't know. I finally told him that he needs to change, I think he's starting to see my view. I'm more angry he hasn't apologised yet. To me or my mum. He can have his opinions about you and I, about what I'm doing with my life, but not about what's passed. I do think I made him almost cry, however. I finally got to him. That's why I said it was odd; we actually made some progress. It's taken over a year but an inch was finally made."

"Well I'm proud of you."

"You really are too, aren't you?" I say, looking at her expression and pulling her into me. "Thanks for coming. I know you downplay it like it's no big deal, it was only for a few minutes, and that you just sat there, but I could tell you were frightened by it."

"I was," she admits, resting her head on my shoulder. "You're welcome."

I'm glad she doesn't argue with me that it's 'no big deal.'

"Maybe I should go," I say half-heartedly. "See my mother."

"No, stay for a few minutes more? Please?"

She leans in and kisses me passionately.

"How can I say no to that?" I murmur into her lips. I can feel her grinning.

"It's just that the next time I see you we'll be on the train. Last few minutes that we can truly be alone together."

"Well let's make them count then." I push her against the sofa arm and get on top of her to make out.

"You're lame, you know? You sound like some hero in a dramatic romance novel. 'How can I say no to that?'" she imitates me.

"Oh shut up and kiss me," I laugh.

"See? Point proven."

I shake my head and she giggles. Then she places her soft palms on my face and looks into my eyes, a move that makes me forget everything, a sensation that both delights and scares me.

"You know what I told my father about you?"

"Uh, no." she says, sitting up a bit, letting go of me."

"I said that you make me happy. And he said that it wouldn't last, but I'm not so sure. Maybe that's a premature thing to say, but I'm really glad I have somebody to talk to, someone who can be there. I'm just worried that I like you too much."

"I make you happy?"

"Yeah," I say looking away from her, embarrassed.

"You make me happy too, Draco. Let me be the judge of you liking me too much."

She hugs me and then snogs me fiercely.

Even though it's terrifying me, this overwhelming feeling of desire and liking, I feel the best I've felt in what seems like my entire life. I have to let this in, I have to let _her_ in.

I grab her head and kiss her back.


	43. Head Versus Heart

**_I don't need a knight, so baby take off all your armor.  
You be the beast, and I'll be the beauty; beauty.  
Who needs true love, as long as you love me truly?  
I want it all, but I want you more.  
Will you wake me up boy if I bite your poison apple?  
I don't believe in fairy tales, but I believe in you and me; take me to wonderland._**

**- ****_Wonderland_****, Natalia Kills.**

* * *

Have you ever felt a jolt in your stomach when you wake up from a dream that felt so damn real, you stop to think whether or not you're in reality or still asleep?

Well that's how I feel now. As I stand in King's Cross, after almost two weeks of some surreal life I've been living where my mother dumps her prejudices and I've managed to get Hermione _Granger _to like me.  
And with that knowledge swirling in my head, I get to return back to an establishment filled with people who hate me and don't have the mental growth not to be assholes about it. My insides are filled with dread standing here and I'm exhausted because I couldn't sleep last night.

My mother isn't helping, she's just as worried as I am. I spent the last two days spending time with her, and she couldn't stop fussing over endless ways and things people could say or do to me about my new woman and about my father.

"Draco…why is that muggle woman waving you over?"

"What?"

I spin around , escaping my thoughts, and sure enough Helen Granger is flapping her hands at me, smiling across the platform. Hermione is less than enthused, giving me an apologetic look.

"God, that's Hermione's mom. I have no idea why, I only met her for about two hours. And please, mother, don't call her a 'muggle'. She's a person."

"It wasn't derogatory, she's clearly a muggle. And you don't know any in case you forgot," she tells me defensively. "Well, it's rude not to go say hello. You might as well go, the train leaves in 15. It was nice seeing you for the past few days, love. I like having you to myself."

She leans in and hugs me tightly, rubbing my back. "Thank you for trying to be understanding about Jean. I know I haven't been honest, you deserve a better treatment from your mother. I'm sorry sweetheart, for everything. I hope you can forgive me."

I really wish I could tell her about Andromeda right now.

"Of course I can," I sigh, giving in to my cowardice. "You're lucky Jean isn't a prick or I'd do everything in my power to scare him off."

She laughs as she pulls away. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Now, go."

I walk away after kissing her cheek goodbye and saunter over to the Granger women.

"Oh hi, Draco!" Helen asks happily. "How was your holiday?"

"_Interesting," _I reply honestly, glancing at Hermione who grins. She's holding a carrier with her beast inside.

Helen frowns and makes a small sympathetic _hm_.

"How was yours? Safe trip?" I ask, unsure of myself.

"Yes yes! It was fantastic. The wedding was just _lovely, _oh, I'd love to go back to Scotland. I'm sorry you two had to spend most of it doing school work."

I fight back a smirk.

"Yes, well, that wasn't the worst part." _Or the best._

"_Oh, _yes, I'm so sorry to hear about….you know, _your parents_," she whispers, as if it's a secret. "Is that your mum over there? Is she doing okay?"

Hermione inches closer to me to squeeze my hand once.

I tilt my head to my mother, who is watching our interaction patiently, arms crossed.

"Yes, she's doing quite well, actually. Just thought it would be too much to invite my future stepfather along today."

"That's so good to hear. Darrell had to go to the practice this afternoon, so that's why I'm alone…" she pauses. "So do you like him? Your mother's fiancée? Is he nice?"

"_Mum –" _Hermione nudges her mother, putting a hand to her forehead. "Please."

"Sorry, sorry. That was a bit impolite. She's very beautiful, Draco, your mother. I can see why you're so handsome," she winks.

"_Mum!"_

I laugh. "I'll be sure to tell her you think so."

"Oh look, there are your little friends again Hermione, why don't you invite them over here?"

Hermione shakes her head as I see Potter and the Weasel glaring at me. They're standing talking to Longbottom and Loony Lovegood.

I notice most people are staring at me, actually. The whole Weasley family is eyeing me like I might do something controversial, save for Ginny who is chatting up some Ravenclaw girl.

"No, mum, they're busy. And anyways, it's 10:47, the train leaves quite soon," she says checking her wristwatch. "We should probably go. I love you, okay? I'll write you tomorrow."

Helen heaves a sigh but resigns to her daughter's embarrassed wishes. "I love you too. I'm sorry we couldn't spend more time together, love. Give Harry and Ron my love, invite them over next time!"

She leans in for an embrace and Hermione obliges, holding her tightly. "I will, mum. Tell dad I miss him already, and if you see Andrea, same thing."

"Okay, darling. Go on then, find a seat! Bye Draco, it was great to see you." She pats me a bit awkwardly on the wrist. "Good luck at school!"

"Thanks. It was nice seeing you, Helen. Thank you for letting me visit your home for the week, and uh, send your husband my regards." I chance a glimpse at Hermione who has a wry smile on, her eyebrows raised. "Enjoy the spring weather."

God, I've run out of things to say.

"Oh, you're _so _polite! Thank you! Bye now."

She waves to us and scooches back to the wall to let the bustling people shove onto the train. I turn to have one last look at my mother, but she's gone. Huh.

"So….how is this going to work?" I hear from behind me.  
I spin round to see Granger a centimetre away from me, folding her arms to her chest out of discomfort.

"What do you mean?"  
She starts to walk to the entrance of the car and beckons me over.

"Well…we didn't really talk about how um, _open, _we were going to be at school about…all this."

"Seeing as everyone is judging us, or at least me, we can just wait until tomorrow when we're in class. You didn't tell your mother you're seeing me, and frankly, I'd rather not spend six hours on a train making chit chat with your ginger friend over there," I jerk my thumb behind me, knowing he's there watching.

She pulls a face, perhaps one disappointed?

"Alright. That's logical. And by the way, I think his shag did the trick because Ginny told me all he's been talking about is how Lanka was all over him," she responds rolling her eyes.

"Well, better than you being all over him." She smacks my arm.

"Come on, now!" She giggles while I rub my shoulder. Always violent, this one. "I guess I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, you will. Enjoy the ride," I say gently, capturing her face for later. Her bright eyes, little nose and the way her lips curve when she smiles. I snapshot it to my memory.

She is taken aback at the intensity of my gaze, and stares at me in wonder before smiling. I grin back as she bends her body into me, before stopping at the last moment. Instead she rubs my back for a split second, retracting and looking at her hand as if she didn't know what she was doing with it.

"That was weird. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have….never mind," she replies flustered. I yearn to kiss her rosy cheeks and it's taking all my willpower not to grab her and crush her into me.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

"Sorry about mum by the way…she's a bit, well…"

"It's fine, it was rather amusing. Did I do alright in speaking to her?"

"Yes," she chuckles. "Granted, you are the only boy I've brought home and she's very easily charmed, but you _are _polite when you aren't being an arse and appear and act respectable."

She grins teasingly at me as the train whistle sounds, resonating to alert everyone to aboard.  
"And that's my cue to go find old Theodore. Bye Hermione," I say, letting my gaze linger on her before turning to jump into the vessel.

My presence catches dirty looks immediately. I ignore them and walk to the back, hoping tradition still stands.

Sure enough I see a greasy haired head, a robed arm, and an obnoxious voice calling me over from the end of the train. I get into the seat, not so surprised to see a one Miss Bulstrode accompanying us, and Nott has a look of incredulity on his face.

He wastes no time interrogating me.  
"You _crazy, lucky _bastard! How in the bloody fucking hell did you manage to convince that girl you were worthy of her time?"

For some odd reason it hasn't hit me until now that I _'got the girl'._ The one I lusted over and wracked my brain about actually gave me a chance. And damn me if I won't try to keep it that way.

I smirk the widest I think I have in a long time.

"I just used my natural beauty and charm, clearly."

* * *

"Hey Hermione, Gin, I'm gonna go visit Neville and Seamus, we were having a good chat about Quidditch. Seeing as they, uh, have room for us," Harry coughs.

"Er – yeah, not enough space in here…. We'll be back," Ron says, shuffling his feet as they both cram out of the door.

They're such terrible liars.  
I tried to talk to Neville as soon as I joined everyone but he clammed up and just frowned at me. People have been checking into our car and every time I open my mouth they just get this real sour look on their faces and don't really respond. Everyone has had the same reaction except for Luna.

That's who I'm sitting with now. Luna.  
And Ginny, who's been a real trooper and hasn't gotten up since we left about an hour ago.

I don't blame Harry and Ron, I've basically made myself a social pariah by associating with Draco. And I understand why everyone hates him, I keep questioning myself as to why I don't.

But right now the answer to that is only going to cause anxiety, so I block it from my mind.

"Oh thank god. They are _so bad_ at being smooth," Ginny says, slapping her _Quibbler _copy down on the counter. "So what are you going to do about Malfoy?"

"What do you mean? I ask surprised.

"Come _on, _Granger. Everyone is avoiding you like the plague. And it's because you were so _obvious _outside about banging the ferret."

"What!? No I wasn't!"

"You two were very chatty, Hermione. He looked very pleased to be in your presence, and you him," Luna says behind her magazine.

"You guys were eye-fucking the hell out of each other. Just talking to him was sign enough that you guys are seeing each other, you assured your destruction," Ginny nods laughing. "So what's the action plan? Going to see each other in secret, behind closed doors or go on full PDA so everyone is forced to get used to it?"

_Eye fucking?_

I sigh, sinking into my seat. "I don't know. I guess I'll have to wait to see how people react to me. If they're going to ignore me then I may as well just be with him. "

"Yes, that's fair. I _did _have a good time with him Friday. I will defend your honour and try to defend his. I can't promise anything of Ron and Harry, they'll likely join the hate parade once the Gryffindor lads start in on him."

"Thanks, Ginny," I say, gripping her hand. She smiles.

Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought.

* * *

"So what's the deal with you and Millicent?"

Nott and I are lying in bed after the feast. It was actually quite uneventful, thank god.  
I got a lot of whispers and glares but I'm used to the latter and nobody had guts enough to ask me about anything. It looked a lot more uncomfortable for Hermione, who was sitting in the midst of judging peers.

I explained the past 2 weeks to Nott (and reluctantly Millicent) in so many words on the train. I refrained talking about going to Azkaban and my father, you know, really personal shit.

However, after the retelling and initial awe of me shacking up with Hermione, I dozed off and never got to ask old Theo about how his partnership was going.

I can hear Nott shifting in his sheets, but I'm still damn tired so I'm keeping my eyes closed.

"We're just friends," he finally says unconvincingly.

"I'm serious, Nott. Before we left you never talked to her at all."

"You won't…understand."

"Oh try me, you prick. I'm not going to make fun of you."

I don't know why I should be nice to him, but I have a feeling that I'll need a friend soon.

"I just….I don't want…." Hearing the struggle in his voice, I know I must share some secrets to get him to believe me.

"Nott, I took Hermione to France on our first date and blubbered like a little baby multiple times in front of her, put up with her friends in an Un-Slytherin like fashion and pushed her away from me after a night of drinking even though she would've let me shag her," I begin very non chalantly.

"Uh…why are you telling me this?" I have his attention now, he's staring at me oddly.

"Because now you have something to hold against me, as I'm assuming it's something embarrassingly emotional. "

"W-why…?"

"I'm trying to be nice here, now spill!" I yell amused.

"Okay, _okay. _Look, we're not together or anything, I don't like her that way. So don't go spreading shit. Just…there was one night I stayed over at her house. Her parents were fighting so we went outside. Laid in the grass out back. I didn't know what to say but my parents split too. I started talking about random things to stop the silence and then we moved onto everything. We clicked, and it was weird. We spent hours out there. I feel close to her in such a short span."

Damn.

"That's not weird at all. That's what we call friendship, Nott. That's what we call affection. Something very rare amongst our kind." I reluctantly sit up and forfeit my sleep, staring at him in a new light.

"Yeah…is that what you feel like with Hermione?" he asks, sitting against the headboard.

"Maybe. Still trying to figure out."

"Well I was spying on you and her body language indicated that she was into you. But I guess it's more complicated than that, given your past."

I exhale a big breath into the roof of my bed.

"You can say that again. I feel like I can trust her, but I don't know if that's because all of my past friends have been _un_trustworthy."

"Well if you can open up to her, isn't that a good sign?"

"Yes, but she's also one of the only people nice to me and that causes me to feel like she cares about me probably more than she actually does. God, why am I telling you this?" I stuff my pillow over my face and smash it against my forehead.

"Seems like you're used to talking after the break. She must have opened up a can of worms, my friend. You likely needed to clean some junk out of your system."

"_Ugh, _I know. I just wish she had some too. She's just so bloody perfect, isn't she?" I throw my pillow across the room and instantly regret it knowing I'm going to have to get up to retrieve it.

"How so?" Nott asks me intrigued.

"Her biggest worry in life besides school is making sure her ex-boyfriend who happens to be her best friend still isn't _sad. _That she doesn't hurt his feelings by rejecting him. Honestly, she practically has had aneurysms over it. And here I am trying to figure out the most basic life skills like _conversing _with people and not crying out of shame in the middle of the hallway._Fuck."_

"Everyone has problems, bro. Just because yours are colossal doesn't mean they're more important."

"I know, I _know, _I just worry that I like her far too much. I keep thinking inside my head that she's going to realize that the only reason she said yes to going out with me was because she felt sorry and wanted to 'save me' because she has nothing left to save."

"That's ridiculous, she's not as stupid as that," Nott brushes my theory off. "Man, you really are self-conscious aren't you? I never noticed it until you removed your insults from your vernacular."

"Shut up. I am self-conscious. Who wouldn't be given the shit I've been through? She said herself that she didn't know if she liked me but I was attractive enough, so that's why we went out. And I heard her overtell Weasley she _doesn't_ trust me. I've been trying to prove to her that I'm, not a jackass but it's hard. Because I _am."_

"I don't think you are. I think you _can be, _a nasty one even. But you have your moments. You just are selectively friendly, as are most people we know."

"Well, _gee thanks_. Your opinion really matters,' I sigh, falling back into my sheets.

"Ouch. I'm just trying to cheer you up. She's with you, so get over it. Stop dwelling and just go for it. Trust and love and all that crap takes time, right? You already have a queue of people who think you two are a messed up pair, don't let it get to you this early."

"I'll try."

We say nothing else for a few moments and everything becomes dark as Nott noxes his lumos charm.

"You going to bed?"

"Mmhm," I murmur.

"Want your pillow….?"

"Not unless you want to get it for me."

"Night, Drakes."

Damn.

"_Bonsoir_," I yawn, rolling onto my belly and trying to fall asleep with a clear head.

* * *

"_So, _did you fuck him?"

I gaze up from my potions book to see Lavender glaring menacingly at me from across the common room.

"Excuse me?"

I really don't need this at eight in the morning.  
Merlin, last night was a nightmare.

Nobody except for Ginny and Harry really looked at me on the train or at dinner. Once we got back here I could tell everyone was talking about me or whispering their judgements. I tried talking to people but they either would frown and give one word answers or simply ignore me. I went upstairs early and read until the rest of the girls came up and I could pretend to sleep.

"Harry. Did you fuck him?" She walks over to the armchair adjacent to me and plops herself in it, crossing her arms. I roll my eyes and put my book down.

_Oh, good grief._

Seriously, you'd think that since there were rumours in a national spectrum that I cheated someone would've actually asked Harry or Ginny about it. Or me!

But from past experiences on Harry's part in the media, I guess that's wishful thinking.

"No, I didn't."

"And Ginny, did she shag your man?" She's relishing in making me uncomfortable.

"No, she didn't."

"Then answer this; have you fucked _Draco? _Because frankly, you don't strike me as the type to go for the ones with money, so his dick must be something special."

What have I done to her, honestly? Why does she treat me like this?

"It's none of your business what I choose to do with him or anyone else," I reply calmly, keeping my nerves cool as I can.

"Oh, but it _is. _It seemed pretty clear to everyone at that club you two were intimate. And given that you've been in the prophet locking lips, your reputation has already tarnished about a thousand points south just by seeing him."

"I don't care." I snatch the book from beside me and reopen it, blocking her out as best I can.

"I think you do. Pardon me, but you _don't _want to be known as a cheater now, do you? You were upstairs with Harry and she was downstairs with Draco, that's not a good sign. Everyone thinks you're going through a bad phase. Maybe snapped a nerve after the war."

_How dare she!_

"I haven't snapped out of anything. You can ask Harry, you can ask Ginny, hell, ask Draco. Not everything you read in the paper is true."

"'Hell'? Hmm, very interesting." She's _smiling _now, as if me cursing is evidence that I've turned a new, horrible leaf.

"Lavender, if you're upset that you didn't manage to get with Ron on the weekend, that's no reason to take it out on me." Her expression changes to as if I just slapped her, but I don't care.

Suddenly a realization dawns on me, and I think I understand why she's asking me these questions.

"And for the record, since you seem sore at me still from two years ago, I _never_ cheated on Ron with you. We were upstairs in the boys dorm, yes, but Harry was also there too. We were not having sex, nor were we kissing or anything else. So please, can you just lay off me now? I have enough to deal with."

I don't dare look at her expression and hope she leaves, because after a minute of silence, the tension is palpable.

"Hey Lav, you ready for breakfast? I was thinking we could go over our charms notes after and….oh."

"I'm ready to go Parvati, come on."

Parvati is looking at the strange sight of us, uncomfortably sitting together and tactfully doesn't say a thing. Perhaps she remembers telling Dean that she found Draco attractive that night in Dragonblood.

They leave me alone in the room again and I find myself wanting to bang my head on the coffee table.

Are all my school interactions going to be like this?

As I find out by the time I get to music apparently they are.

About the only person who's bothered to speak more than two words to me is Fay, and she was just practicing charms with me. Harry and Ron were too busy talking to their mates and I didn't catch Ginny before class.

Today it is the technical class, so it's only the 8 advanced. And all the wrong people. Dean, Draco, and McGonagall.

I wonder if she feels responsible for getting us together? Or if she'd even care.

All I know is that I'm sitting down in my seat waiting for the lesson to begin, and Draco's burning a hole in the back of my neck, perhaps communicating with looks that he's feeling as awkward as I am.

I caught his eye as I walked in but he left me the horrid decision on where to sit, and I sat in front of him, causing Dean to grimace and the rest shaking their heads or rolling their eyes.

"Welcome back students," our professor greets us, walking to the front. "I must confess I'm a little busy with grading so today we're just going to rehearse, get the gears going again. Though I would hope you were all quite active in your projects groups over break."

"_Well some of us were," _Hannah Abbott whispers, causing the group to giggle, and I to blush.

McGonagall ignores the interruption. "You are free to choose your composition. I have papers to grade for transfiguration, so please, go on your way."

Everyone shuffles up and I swing behind me to Draco, who shrugs apologetically and stands up to walk over to his piano that he set up in the corner.

This is just ridiculous.

I grab a scroll of my potions notes and rip out a piece of it, scrawling a note on it and getting up to go leave it on the stool for Draco. I give him a weak smile as I go to play my violin, unable to concentrate the whole time, just staring as he gracefully taps the keys, losing himself in the notes.

He doesn't open the paper until the end of the lesson and smiles as he reads it making me extremely pleased.

When the bell rings, my mood drops significantly knowing I have to leave without Draco, his presence comforting me. I have muggle studies, a class he doesn't have.

Three more hours till dinner.  
_Sigh._

* * *

_Meet me in Section B tonight at 7 pm tonight.  
We need to discuss our public appearance, and yes I know that sounds pretentious.  
Hermione xx_

_PS: Don't you dare come drunk!_

I chuckle again reading her note. It's just so…._her._

I can tell she's quite uncomfortable with people staring at her and making judgements, she likes being well perceived. It's discomfiting for me though I'm used to the loathing, but damn I used to relish in the hate. For once in my life I'm sick of the attention.

"Ready for your date?" Nott teases me. We're sitting by the fire, seniority and all that jazz.

"It's not a date, it's a discussion group," I sigh. "I _wish _it were date, but I doubt the very romantic setting over the library will spur Hermione on to make out."

"Well she is our resident bookworm. Who knows right?"

"Yeah, okay," I reply, rolling my eyes and standing up from the couch.

"Hey Draco!" from behind me comes the voice of Astoria. I spin round to face her inquiring tone.

"Yes?" I asked bemused. Nott is scrunching his face, as confused as I am.

"I was just wondering…did you hex Ron Weasley that day in Hogsmeade because you liked Hermione Granger?

"Uh…"

"I saw it, I was there. I'm just wondering because Rachel has been a bit bummed ever since our erm, date. I thought if I told her that, she'd be ok…"

Oh.

"Well…if you must know, yes, I think that is why. I also hate Weasley's guts, so don't go thinking I've gone soft," I say, and she grins.

"I won't. I think it's kind of cute, by the way. Very…_odd. _But cute. And nobody I've talked to about it thinks you cheated on her, for the record. Why would you want Ginny Weasley germs, a girl who's been with Harry whom you hate?"

"You've been discussing my love life with _people_?" _Ugh._

"Uh….not too many, don't worry! Anyways gotta go…OWLs and, um, studying, erm. Yeah."

She glances at Nott, frowns and then stalks away. I groan, cursing the gods for making her the one to talk about me. Even if it's positive, she's the most popular girl in Slytherin, perhaps even her year. Dammit.

"Well that was fucking weird," Nott says, uncrossing his legs and putting his homework on the table. "I really ruined my chances with her didn't I?" he asks, watching her walk upstairs.

"Yeah. But not with Millicent," I reply, smirking. I enjoy how flustered he gets every time I mention a romantic possibility with her. Probably done it 10 times today.

I give them 2 weeks before they fuck in a broom closet, he clearly likes her and has a hard time admitting it because she's not an ideal beauty, bless her. Takes one 'smitten kitten' to know one.

"Will you give it a rest?" he sighs.

"_Nope, _see ya in a few," I say exiting the common room.

The walk to the library seems to take a thousand years, and by the time I get there I'm bursting with excitement, which again, scares me a little.

I found myself missing her after one night of silence.

I didn't see her at dinner and no words escaped my lips when I _did _see her today.

And I _want _to be able to do these things. I want to touch her, and laugh with her, and say 'have a good time doing x,y and z.'

Nott's words are swirling through my mind as I stroll to section B, and I'm very glad to see her sitting there alone waiting for me, nobody around but us.

_Stop dwelling and just go for it….don't let it get to you this early._

"So today was ridiculous," Hermione says looking up from her notes and smiling. She has the most adorable crinkle round her eyes when she smiles, she's never fake about them the way I can be.

"Not for me, really, but I'm sorry to hear." I go to sit down on the carpet against the giant window displaying the dusky stars. She rotates her body on the chair to face me.

"The only person who talked to me was Lavender, who quite rudely asked me if I had sex with Harry, and then with you," she says irritated, her hand fidgeting with her quill.

"And you said?" I ask curious. She's such a nice girl, what would she have replied with?

"I told her…well, I told her that just because she was upset about not getting to shag Ron, she needn't take it out on me," she flushes.

_Snap!_

"Dayummm, Granger, I didn't know you had it in you. I'm impressed," I laugh.

"Oh, stop it. Technically, I broke those two up, so I feel a bit bad. She thought I cheated with him, and I didn't, so I let her know in case she didn't believe Ron. I don't want the school to believe we're all adulterers," she nods, furrowing her brow. "God this school is very gossipy. Poor Harry."

"Psh, we can get through it if he did. He had it much worse. I just can't stand to act like we're not seeing each other. Because I _want_ to see you, and talk to you."

Hermione tilts her head at me suddenly and grins in a sad way. She walks over to me and sits down beside me.

"I do too," she leans against my shoulder. "I have a difficult time not being very affectionate to people I want to be close to, and I'm just afraid that I'm going to explode if people keep on pointing and making snarky remarks. I haven't even kissed you or held your hand, imagine the reaction then?"

"I'll just hex them," I say, and I'm glad I make her giggle.

"Don't get detention for something so petty. I'm more worried about privacy in that we'll have none."

"Well we have it now, don't we? We can meet here on certain days and I don't have Quidditch, so weekends are free. You can spend time with your friends when they aren't practicing on the pitch."

"Yeah, you're right," she says. "That's a good idea, actually, I forgot there weren't enough Slytherin's. Sorry about that by the way."

"I'll live."

She ponders for a moment and then turns to me, she melts her lips onto mine.

"You really think we can do this." A statement, not a questions.

"Of course I do. Honestly, Hermione, look at all this shit I went through on break, all the stress you had not wanting to upset your friends," I laugh. "All this effort we need to be able to do it. This isn't supposed to be a war, it's supposed to be a blossoming romance."

I tangle my hand in hers, interlocking them, stroking her knuckles with my thumb.

"_Why does it feel that way then_?" she whispers. "It feels so hard trying to keep everyone and everything happy. It's like a war, my head versus heart. But for once…I want my mind to rest, and I want to let my emotions win."

I squeeze her hand, for some reason feeling tears prick my eyes.

"Everyone sees the bad things you've done, but nobody seems to see that you're not that person anymore. And the more I think about why I like you, I can't put it in words, and I question it, and I don't know how to describe the person you've become."

"Trust me, Hermione, I don't know what happened to me either. I wish you could tell me. But it has to be good, doesn't it? Because I like you, and you seem to like me. We barely know each other too, remember that. I know it's so damn tense and it seems so life and death because of my past discretions, but hopefully everyone that matters to you will get over it eventually. Hopefully you decide i'm worth it."

"It _is _good. And I hope you are too." she pauses. "You know, I see what you mean by thinking you like me too much, I'm pretty sure I'm the same," she admits, stroking my cheek. She then surprises me, sitting in my lap.

"You know what's odd? I think for once in his life, Theo Nott gave someone good advice."

"Oh?…to who?"

"Me. He said to me last night not to dwell on why we're together, just go for it. Don't let these weird feelings get to me this early because I'm happier. If I can make you happy in turn by not being so afraid of fucking up, then I'll do it. I'd do anything," I breathe, wrapping my arms around her, feeling the most intimate I ever have sitting in this nook of books.

She hugs me back, breathing in my scent and then moving to kiss me.. It's passionate, and intense, and needed. And I never thought I could feel this way about anybody, and I never thought it could happen so fast.  
And the bliss that comes is unparalleled to all the snogs and make outs we've had before  
To all the times I thought I was in love with Pansy and spent time with her between sheets.

And I realize in a fleeting second that I am falling in love with this girl. Because she can talk to me, and she understands me, and I think I get her too. I can open up to her, and the fact she's _willing _to try to talk to me after the pain I've caused her is astounding and unfathomable.

And I am not worthy, and I am terrified, but I do not want to stop.  
Not on my life.


	44. Love is Madness

**Author's Note:**

**Guys sorry it's been like 2 weeks, been super busy, and also:**

**I SAW FREAKING MUSE!**

**My god, it was so crazy unexpected. I never thought I'd see them. I was broke when their tickets came out, but my friend had extras. She was going to go with her family but she had an exam the morning after the first date (they played 2 dates in a row in Montreal where we went). Long story short, we had crappy seats but it was way better than I could've hoped for. Way better, they sound album quality live.**

**I still can't believe it (it was last night!). Anyways, sorry for rambling but they've inspired me so in this fic, I just had to mention it.**

* * *

_**And now I have finally seen the end, **_  
_**And I'm not expecting you to care, **_  
_**But I have finally seen the light,**_  
_**I have finally realized; **_  
_**I need to love.**_

**- ****_Madness, _****Muse. **

* * *

"You ready?" she asks me.

"_So _fucking ready."

It's been three excruciating weeks of secret library visits, silent conversations and constant rumour spreading. I've had it.

I told Hermione I'm done with it, and that hiding our affection makes us look weak, and makes us look ashamed. Granted, she probably _is _ashamed of me, but that's irrelevant.

She told me we should wait it out for a little bit to let the ocean settle, but the fish are oh so snappy today, tomorrow and yesterday.

So right now, mid-dinnertime at Hogwarts, we're walking into that damn Great Hall and we're holding hands and kissing each other. And _sitting down at the same table. _(Gasp! Ugh.)  
Like we're in some horribly scripted romantic play. Hermione says that because most people still seem tongue tied or angry towards her, she's been more apprehensive than me to do this. Ultimately she decided that perhaps they are like that because when she's not really open with us seeing each other, it seems like she hasn't accepted it herself.

I don't really care about the psychology of it, I just want physical contact and emotional stimulation more than one hour every two days. The sharks will get their food tonight, and they can do whatever they please with it. Play with it or swallow.

"Alright, here we go. Act like you're immersed in a conversation," she says smiling, pushing the door open as she clutches my hand. "And make it as genuine as possible."

"About what?"

"Um, potions, transfig, I don't know. Oh, oh, Quidditch." She gives me an unsure look with her plastered on grin and strolls with a confident gait straight down the middle of the hall.

"Oh, you mean how much I hate that I can't play it?" I ask, with a teasing tone. "Yes, well I'm hoping England will do well this year but their seeker is doing pretty bad like always. Now, which table are we going to go to, because look at your Gryffindor companions. Ooh, they look angry," I say with as much joy as I can muster.

The Gryffindor seventh years have their eyes trained on us, and so do the Hufflepuffs who also share the middle tables.

"It's important that you come to my table, because they seem to think, from what I gather, that you've influenced me badly rather than the other way around. I can go to yours tomorrow. What was it you were saying about Quidditch, dear?" She changes her tone to a flirty, girly one. "Hi Harry, Ginny, Ron."

If I could capture the look on Weasel's face right now, I'd give the person with a camera a million galleons. Everyone is completely gobsmacked at my presence, and I can't say that I don't enjoy the reaction a little.

I thought she informed Ginny of my table appearance, but evidently not. She has wide eyes, probably wondering whether or not I'm going to leave in one piece.

"Hi…." Ginny says uneasily, taking the initiative to move down a bit so there's space for me.

"Draco?" Hermione urges as I take a seat next to Ginny, and she next to Potter.

"Oh yes, I was saying that Blythe Parkin is a terrible seeker, and they should get rid of him so England can start doing well in Quidditch again," I say, thinking that this is going to get awkward in a second.

Hermione doesn't know anything about Quidditch, does she? What is she going to respond with?

"And who do you suggest they replace him with?" She asks intently into my eyes, pretending that she actually cares, ignoring the people around me openly glaring.

"If they'd get Francois Du Point, the French seeker, they'd be good, and if they could manage the Hungarian chaser Janos Kovas, they'd become a dream team, honestly," I reply, shaking my head at how ditzy she's being.

"You know _so _much about Quidditch," she smiles, leaning in to kiss me.

A fork is dropped, and as she pulls away I notice it's Thomas's. He looks positively livid, actually, Weasley looks pretty sour too.

Hermione takes the liberty of putting chicken on my plate, along with some potatoes while the conversation around us has ceased to exist. She starts to eat daintily, blathering to me some story about muggle studies.

And then after a few minutes Thomas decides to speak: "Hermione, what are you trying to prove by bringing him to our table?"

"Oh, first time any of you have spoken to me directly in almost a month, and its hostile, how lovely," she notes scathingly, making everyone flush red in earshot.

Thomas is unfazed. "Of course it is. Look at who we have to sit with. You think we'd enjoy the company? What do you have to prove?"

"No, no I didn't think you'd enjoy it, but this whole thing hasn't blown over yet, this judgmental blanket of opinions that I've somehow changed because I hang out with Draco. I'm sick of trying. I've tried to talk to all of you, and none have given me a chance to explain anything. I'm not proving anything. I'm doing what I want. And anyways, it's really none of your business who I date; does it affect your life? No. I'm not embarrassed of him, so why be quiet about it?" She grabs my hand and I can't help but grin a silly smile.

She's being extremely stroppy, confronting , and over exaggerating about her confidence in our relationship. She's dismissing her school friends and calling them out on their unacceptable behaviour. She's being Slytherin, is what she's being, in an less vicious way.  
I'm extremely turned on right now.

"You _should_ be embarrassed of him!" Longbottom shouts angrily. He's sitting directly across from me, glaring at me as if I'm a disease that can infect.

I can see it on her face, Hermione's in shock. I'm a bit shocked myself. _Everyone's_ a bit shocked.

"Look at his track record, Hermione. Look at what he's done and said to _us, _the shit he's pulled for the other side. Who his family is, and what they are. You're supposed to be the smartest person I know, what's wrong with you? Open your eyes! Look, he's enjoying this, he's smiling at our anger."

Oh, for fucks sake.

"I'm smiling because she's sticking up for me, Longbottom, not because everyone's mad," I express coldly. He doesn't waiver.

Hermione mentally gathers her wits, swallowing hard, obviously finding it easier to retaliate to Dean, who pissed her off some way.  
"Nothing is wrong with me, Neville. Things are different now, people change. I've accepted what he's done, I won't forget it, but I can move past it."

"Well, I can't!" This rings in from Finnigan. I guess the boys are getting more confident. "I don't want you at our table Malfoy, so step off."

"Is that a unanimous decision?" I ask, eyeing everyone face to face. Nobody mans up to say anything though.

"Haven't any of you heard of inter-house unity? Don't you care at all about making amends? Or are you too shallow for that? In case you hadn't noticed, he hasn't been rude to you at all this year. He _helped _you in your audition Neville, remember?" Poor dear is getting flustered at all this confrontation.

"I don't care! He only did it so McGonagall would think better of him. He doesn't care about anyone except for himself, don't you Malfoy? You only want to date her so you look good, bet that was your dad's plan all along, huh? Put that into action as soon as you decided to come back to school."

Longbottom growing a pair was definitely not a good thing to happen.  
I'm not letting this get to me.  
I'm not letting this get to me.  
I'm _not._

Say nothing, Draco. Dignifying him with a response would only make you angry.

"Look, I know you all have a million reasons to dislike him, but if you don't give him the opportunity to show you a reason to not hate him it'll never change."

"Maybe we don't want it to change."  
This small firm statement comes from someone I did not expect, _Potter._ It's not a surprise, really, but I thought Weasley would be the first to attack me from Hermione's side.

"_What?" _Hermione whispers.  
The tension has mounted to an all-time high. Everyone in arms reach is silent, and some younger ones are looking in to the drama event of the week. Ugh.

"Even if he shows me a side of him I can tolerate, I'll never be able to forgive him for the anguish over the years. I just _can't."_

"But what about – " Hermione begins weakly.

"About him not turning us over to Voldemort?" We all flinch, myself included, at his name. Some gasp, I guess surprised that I had the chance of giving them up and didn't. "Yeah it's true, we were at Malfoy Manor, Voldemort was keeping prisoners there. Malfoy didn't identify us when asked, and that's how the confrontation with Bellatrix happened," he explains. Oh yes, Potter put the Bellatrix part in his dumb autobiography, but not the part about me, obviously.

"Besides," he continues shaking his head, "that's the proper thing to do, just because he did it doesn't make him a good person. It was more out of fear than compassion, than actually giving a damn about anyone else. Why else would he come back and try to get his wand at a most inopportune moment?"

"How do _you _know how I feel, Potter? Since when did you become the expert on the –"

"You shut the fuck up!" Weasley barks at me, taking me aback.

Hermione glances at Ginny, who is just as helpless looking as she is.

"_No," _I reply hotly. "You all are acting like Hermione is some stupid school girl with no sense left in her brain. Do you honestly think that she'd be with me if she didn't overanalyze her feelings a hundred times? That she wouldn't end it if I stepped a toe out of line? The _Prophet _is a bunch of lies, haven't' you learned that yet from what the said about Potter?" I point to him, he looks uncomfortable. Good.

"My father didn't want me to see her actually, Longbottom. He hates muggleborns, remember? I used to, but I was an idiot. And I admit to it. You act like I don't know what I've done. You act like you've got me all figured out, when you don't know me at all. You think that I don't have a conscience or that I'm not _aware _of what she thinks of me and what all of you think. I know I'm lucky she's giving me a chance. I don't really care if you hate me, I'm only here for her sake. But I'm not taking your abuse, and I'm not projecting it back, so good bye."

I swing my legs over the bench and stand up, extremely proud I did not insult a single person, that's probably some sort of record. I want to eat food, but I'm not going over to my table, there are wandering eyes curious as to why I've left as quickly as I came. Then again, if I leave, it's like I'm 'storming out'. Ah, fuck. When did life become so melodramatic?

"Draco!" Hermione has sprung up to join me. She grabs my shoulder and walks with me. "God, I'm so sorry. That was a stupid idea. What are you doing?"

"No worries, lovely, I expected as much. I'm actually hungry, a rare occurrence, I need to eat, I'm going to my table. Feel free to go back to yours, we can rendezvous après?" I smirk.

"Lovely?" she grins, making me melt. I've been melting quite a bit as of late. "I like that. And I'd be a hypocrite if I told them to welcome you to the table and was too chicken to go to yours."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "Well, good. You can meet Theodore properly, and you can tell me if I'm hallucinating his signals with Madam Bulstrode or if they're there."

"Lucky me," she admits a bit nervously.

"You'll be fine, they're more scared of you than them. Pansy ain't around to be a bitch."

"If you say so…" As we cross the sea of Hufflepuff and get to our scarcely filled table, I notice Nott staring at me with a dirty smile, and I shake my head at him. Millicent isn't here tonight, dammit.

"Oh Drakes, you've brought home a stray," Nott says like an imbecile as I go sit across from him. Hermione takes a spot next to me.

"Nott, you're a tosser," I reply monotone, grabbing some ham from the roast in front of me.

"Perhaps. Hi, I'm Theodore Nott. You can call me Theo, though. Drakes here refuses to call me it because he hates his own nickname," he pats me on the head. I want to break his scrawny neck.

"_Drakes?" _Hermione giggles inquisitively.

I sigh. "Yes, yes, it's _hilarious, _you call me that and I'll start calling you Hermy."

She laughs even harder. Damn it, it's hard to intimidate her when you're me, I forgot.

"Don't worry, I won't. I think it's cute though. And I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she replies to Nott, waving mildly.

"See, it's _cute!"_

"Yeah, not when you say it. So where's Millicent this evening?" I ask innocently. His face drops immediately, and I nudge Hermione who rolls her eyes.

"She's in detention, actually. Punched Daphne Greengrass for er, uh, mocking me," he finishes quietly.

"Oh, pray tell about what?"

"She said something along the lines of 'watch out Millicent, he thinks all the girls like him when he doesn't have a single chance.' Blah blah blah."

"Ouch, well she kinda deserved it then, eh?" Hermione slaps my shoulder. "Alright, maybe not a punch. That girl doesn't have a great track record, does she?"

"She started a fistfight with me in second year at the Duelling Club," Hermione says timidly. "I mean, it was so long ago, I don't really care just, yeah."

"Oh that's right," I reply amused, spooning some mashed potatoes in my mouth. "Well if you two ever get together at least one of you can defend each other's honours."

"Will you shut up?!"

"Ooh, testy."

"_Draco," _Hermione scolds, though I can tell she's entertained by our banter.

"Come on Granger, that's just how we talk to each other, right Nott?" I look at him and smirk, hoping to communicate to him that I'm only teasing.

"Yeah…" he trails off, finally smiling a little. "So what're you two lovebirds up to this evening? Disturbing the peace of Hogwarts by scandalously sitting next to each other, _gasp!"_

"Sitting at the _wrong _table, actually. There aren't as many judgementals over here, oddly enough. Probably because all the assholes never came back," I say.

"Well, you're here aren't you?"

"Oh, _ha ha. _We're going to practice after this, performance in 3 days, ya know. You ready with your lady?"

"Meh, can't be fussed to be honest," he shrugs.

"I wish I could be like you," Hermione sighs, putting her head on crossed arms.

"Been all up in arms about it, this one," I say, nudging her. "_'Draco, we must go over it just one more time, we only have a week!'" _I imitate.

"Oh be quiet, you knew I was like this coming into the project."

"I suppose I did."

"Does it bother you much?" she asks me, raising an eyebrow.

"Not one bit."

She grins looking down at the table, silently pleased.

I notice somebody at the front of the room.

"Speak of the devil," I say, pointing to the entrance. Nott zooms his gaze to Millicent, who waves to him as she comes over and then scrunches her eyes at Hermione sitting with me.

She beckons Nott to stand up next to her and Nott reluctantly gets up, aware of me watching. They have some kind of conversation, probably about leaving because Daphne has noticed her presence, glaring at her.

While Nott's preoccupied, I pull Hermione into me and whisper into her ear, "_Hey, are you okay?_"

"_Okay?_" she replies confused.

"Well, about the reaction to me. They are your friends after all," I murmur.

She looks at me with that calculating look. The exam question look.  
She does it quite often now, it's getting quite unnerving.

"I'm fine, I'm just frustrated. I thought Harry was getting used to it," she sighs. "I don't want to get so upset about it right now, I can't appear to let it get to me."

"If you want to postpone the practice, you can go talk to him later…"

"No. If he's not respecting you, I'm not going to talk to him about it until he comes to me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

She leans her head on my shoulder and I feel that dreadful feeling once again, the one that makes my chest tight and my head heavy, but my heart so blissfully happy.

* * *

"Alright last time."

"_Last_ _time?" _Draco groans, "We've played it what? 16 times now? My fingers have stopped working."

He shakes his hand at me and I have an urge to burst out laughing. I think he's ruined my ability to be completely stern because he complains incessantly but then does what I say anyways.

"Draco, we need to get it to absolute perfection. We're almost there, but there's always room for improvement."

He sighs, drops his head and then smiles.  
"Merlin, if we don't get an O, I'm reporting McGoogles to the school board."

"McGoogles?" I giggle.

He's so ridiculous.

"That's what I call her in my head. Anyways, don't tell her I call her that, let's go, let's go." I shake my head and raise the bow, "1, 2, 3, 4 – "

He begins the slow intro, over exaggerating his movements in an attempt to make me laugh. Instead I look away, get lost in the sound, cueing in when my time comes, the slow crescendo we build before beginning to sing together.

Though I'd never tell him, Draco's voice is very endearing to me. Because it's not very good.  
He has the quality of being aware that people are listening to him and therefore is toning down his effort a bit, it's adorable seeing him vulnerable.

This barrier that we had before this year is slowly being torn down, brick by brick.  
I knew the pureblood mania was gone, and I knew he had feelings because I've seen him cry, experienced him completely empty his thoughts onto me.

Still I never realized that he was well, human. He doesn't always have an agenda, he's not always angry. And he's not this one dimensional Slytherin rich kid that bullies people for attention and self-approval. He has just never had a chance to really be himself, he acted out at school because he was away from his parents, but he still had to adhere to these expectations set by them. And he's guarded, regardless if he used his father as a threat and told people stupid things about himself. I guess he just needed somebody to talk to, that's why he broke down with me, and spilled everything out.

It also relaxes me a smidge knowing that he isn't actually over the top confident when I constantly struggle with that, it's mostly a façade.

"Hermione? _Hello_?"

We've been done for a minute now without me reiterating my feedback, whoops.

"Sorry, thinking."

"Thinking, hm? Dangerous stuff. What's wrong?" He gestures for me to come sit next to him on his seat, and I put my violin in the case, suddenly feeling exhausted as I go to him.

"Nothing. _Really," _I say at his doubtful expression. "And that was pretty good, actually. We were on time."

"Not at the end," he smirks, ruffling my head, probably making my curls into a mushroom cloud. "You were miles away."

"Really? Oh…," I reply embarrassed, fixing my hair.

"It's alright, you still were on point and –"

The door clicks open and a talking Seamus with Justin Flinch-Flentley walks in. Their heads snap to us and they pause only to have Seamus roll his eyes and say 'fuck's sake.'

Justin narrows his eyes at us and they both turn around to leave. I take a deep breath.  
"Wait, Seamus. We're done now, you can use the room."

Seamus comes back and stares at us, evidently waiting for us to leave, but not conveying a thank you or anything.

I glance at Draco who raises an eyebrow and stands up to wander out of there, putting the composition back on the shelf. I move my violin to the corner and put a protection charm on it and the piano before walking past the two of them, grimacing at us openly.

"Where to?" Draco asks when we're out of range, grabbing my hand and swinging it.

"Why do you seem so unfazed by all this? The mocking, the contempt?"

"I'm used to it, I guess. Only difference from now and from being 14 is that I realize I deserve some of it. It does bother me a little, but I was a brat and an asshole, and I honestly don't expect most people to give me a chance, lord knows I never thought you'd give me one."

"Oh…" Why does he have to make me like him so? "Well ok…"

"You're just not used to it because you're a saint among these parts."

"Oh, stop it," I blush.

"it's truu-ueee," he sings, laughing. "Now, seeing as it's Friday and only 7:40, library?"

"You…_want _to go to the library?" I ask with wide eyes.

"Not really, but you want to. When do you not? I'd rather spend time with you even if you're studying than go back to my dorm."

"How sweet," I reply. And I mean it. "But _no, _I don't have my books or anything! I don't want to go back to the common room, I can't face those people, knowing they're going to start judging me when I leave, oh _god."_

"Now, now, don't go into panic mode. Maybe we can just read a book? You know I hear there are thousands of them." He's trying to make me smile but no, it's not going to work.

"No, what's the _point _of reading a school book if I can't take notes?"

"Fair point, I guess. Well…maybe we can, just go for a walk?"

"I'd rather sit and talk," I say. "Let's just go to the library. There's more privacy than anywhere else, it's probably too late to go outside."

"Alright then, let's go." He squeezes my hand and then pulls me along, making my stomach jump.

Half an hour later, in section B, we've given up trying to find something to read after looking through all the sections. Draco found one line in all the books and read it, snoring at how 'boring' it was.

We're sitting against the windows, just conversing. It's nice.

"So what did you think of Theo? He's a bit stupid, in'nt he?" he asks me, "And come here," he says yanking me into him.

"He's not stupid, he was friendly enough. I guess I'm surprised that you two tease each other so….so like buddies, I suppose."

He tilts his head and looks at me. "Why is that surprising?"

"It just seems that you kept your friends at a metre's length before, you made followers not friends," I stammer.

"I guess it did seem like that to you," he says quietly. "I wasn't always like that, I was with Crabbe and Goyle, I'll admit. But Pansy, Blaise and I had actual conversations." He pauses for a second. "Theo used to avoid me, and as soon as I came here, though he was surprised to see me, he was _nice _to me. So was Graham, and so was Astoria. I've been a shitty person and they don't owe me a thing. It took my integrity down a peg to see somebody that annoys me be kind to me. So I tease him but there's some kind of friendship that he's been attempting to have with me."

I lean in and kiss him on the lips. When he stares at me I say, "You really keep on surprising me, you know. It's so strange to me that you own up to things I never thought you would have."

"The reason everyone hates Slytherin's is because of people like me, but not everybody is mean, not everyone is horrible, they're just trained to ignore the rest of you. And we're trained to keep quiet," he discloses, staring at the floor.

"But how does one live like that?" I whisper.

He takes a deep breath. "I dunno. I don't think I truly did. I feel free. I feel a million times better now that I can share my secrets with you, just how I feel…I know I've exploded on you and I'm sorry, it's just. It's been a hard year," he sighs.

"I feel that."

"I didn't mean to say that mine was harder than yours, I- "

"No, no, it probably has been. I mean, it was tough not being able to see my parents but we got them back and everything was fine. Plus, I was with my friends…the only hard thing to deal with were, well, nightmares."

"Nightmares?" he asks, concern filled in his low tone.

"Yes, I had recurring nightmares…they're gone now. I had them for about 6 months, not every day. But often."

He pulls me close, kissing me gently on the cheek.  
Noiseless comfort.

"_I had them too."_

"You – you did?"

"Why do you think I started drinking?"

My mind flashes back to one of his pensieve memories:

_"Draco, are you drinking again?_"  
_"I've been having horrible dreams again. Rum makes them disappear._"

God, poor Draco. Father's in prison, parents getting divorced, had to live with Voldemort, had to be a Death Eater, had to _kill _somebody….

"What were they about?...If you don't mind?" I correct myself quickly.

He stares at me with a bit of dread, and then looks straight ahead.

"Mostly about me."

"What do you mean?"

"Turning into my father, or a bad version of myself. Hurting people, killing Dumbledore. I couldn't deal with that stress in sixth year, I distanced myself from everyone or just used them for my own need. And then after it finally happened, watching him die. Being a coward, and watching my mother die. Stepping over dead bodies, cursing people I didn't want to curse."

"That sounds horrible," I note, unable to stop myself. A sudden thought hits me. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," he says, still looking into the distance.

"Harry told me that when he saw you in the bathroom, and, well, fought you, that Moaning Myrtle was there. _Why?"_

I feel him getting hot around the collar, his face a deep pink.

"I know it's out of the blue, but I always wondered about why that happened."

It takes him a moment to find the courage to speak, but he does.

"I – she – when I was plotting for, you know, death…I would go in that damned bathroom to think. Pansy wouldn't leave me alone in the dorms, she knew something was up. Myrtle would sometimes come up and try to talk to me. I told her off the first few times, but….she kept persisting. And finally I broke down. I cried and cried. And she just sat there. I told her what bothered me. And I didn't tell her what was going on, exactly, but she always wanted to help. And I guess…that made me feel like somebody liked me, even though I didn't deserve it."

"But you did deserve it. Everyone deserves it," I say trying to calm him, his hands gone from my waist, fidgeting in his hair.

"I should've just talked to Snape! That is the biggest regret of my life. I can deal with this stupid fucking tattoo. It sucks. I can deal. But no, I didn't _do _anything. I should've done _something. _Accepted Dumbledore's help. If I had gotten help, they surely would've helped my mother. Right? But I couldn't, I thought that it was finally my time to shine, that if everyone hated me I may as well just be bad."

"But that isn't you!" I say sharply, halting him in his rant. He flinched backward a bit before gazing at me. "You're not 'bad'. Maybe you were mean, nasty, there's no denying it. But evil? Maybe I used to think you were a cockroach crawling around this place with nothing to offer, not anymore. I talk to you, and I get comfort. I get genuine conversation and provoking thoughts. I feel like you care about me, and I care about you. If you were a bad person, would I spend time with you?"

"I –" he doesn't know what to say.

"Look Draco, Dumbledore didn't want you to kill him but he was going to be killed no matter what. And guess what? You didn't do it ultimately. In these past three weeks, you have proved to me that you deserve a second chance. You haven't acted out to my friends, and have done what I said. I feel bad that you even had to do this much for me already. It's different now, our lives. This relationship, it's far different than when I was with Ron. It's better. And I – I just –"

Draco cuts me off, swooping in to grab me firmly and smash his lips onto mine, causing my insides to somersault. I clutch his head, and he pulls me impossibly close, his hands snaking up and down my back, tangling my hair.

I feel the pit of my stomach tipping and turning, over and over and over again. The sensation goes lower when we don't come up for air.

And after a while, we have our blazers off, and his tie is off, and I'm straddling his lap, leaning against the window while he pins me to the glass.

His hands go up my shirt, cold fingers shocking the skin on my breasts. He unclasps my bra, and undoes the buttons of my shirt, pulling them down enough so he can tease my nipples.

"_Uh," _I breathe, moaning.  
He's nipping and kissing me in all the right places it seems.

"_God," _he groans. "_You're so fucking sexy."_

"Really?" I ask, breathless.

"Every word you say makes me want you. It's driving me _crazy__,"_ he yanks my head back down to him, snogging me intensely.

I feel his erection pressed in so near to me, I want to scream. I'm wet from arousal, and I want to be touched so badly. I'm probably flushed red already, I feel like we're so hot we're dissolving together to form one person.

I don't know how to convey properly what I want to be done to me, I don't know if I'm ready to touch him yet.

I grab his palms and push them from my face down to the top of my thighs.  
He gets the message.

He squeezes them, circling his thumbs closer and closer to where I want them to be, slowly waiting for a resistance that won't come. I lean back to accommodate him, and he's panting as he looks into my eyes as if he'll never find an end to their depth, asking me a question.

"_Please," _is all I say.

His breathing becomes even more erratic as he strokes a finger up and down my clitoris, slowly at first, and then faster as he notices my panties becoming damper with each caress.

I start to squirm violently, feeling a dull ache of desire gathering in my most sensitive spot, isolating pleasure that's almost too much to bear.

Draco slides me off him, and pulls me beside him so he can hold me easier while he fingers me, using his free hand to wrap his arm round me, and gently cover my mouth to stifle all the noise I'm making.

I spread my legs, feeling the need to be as wide as I can, and he hooks one leg around my knee so I'm stuck in that position.

I start to mumble almost incoherently. "Inside me, _inside me, please, please," _and it sends him over the edge when he realizes what I'm saying, tilting his head backwards and forward again like he can't believe it.

He pushes my panties aside, it's not enough.  
It's like nothing exists but this amazing feeling, and I'd do anything to keep it from stopping.

I glide them off my legs for a full access; Draco wastes no time in getting me back to him. Slipping a finger inside of me, in and out, he's changing speeds and making me want to yell to high heavem.

As my whimpering mounts to an all-time high, Draco clamps his hand more firmly.

"_Scream, Hermione. Let it out," _he murmurs into my ear, turning me on more than ever. "_Please come for me."_

Fuck.  
_"Oh my god."_

He goes back to rubbing me, slick with wet, and my restraint goes out the window as he relentlessly tries to make me climax. My legs are stiff, strained, and I keep pushing my body outward to stop from wriggling, so he can keep going.

It feels like days go by, and I almost feel embarrassed that I can't come, and guilty because he's probably blaming himself for it. I've never come for myself or somebody else, without some kind of tool, I don't know if I'll be able.

_No, no, no. _Stop calculating, just experience.  
Don't think.  
_Just -_

"_Relax, Hermione. It's alright," _he whispers soothingly, taking a slow tempo again so I have time to let air in my lungs.

After I being to regulate my breathing again, I feel the overwhelming waves come back to me, the pulsing desire.

"I think I'm close," I blurt out quietly. This almost there feeling is excruciating.

And then – rapidly, unexpectedly, he begins to go full force, so fast, using two fingers against my now swollen clit. I moan so loudly into his hand. And bite my nails into his leg. And ball my fist beside me. I'm shaking violently, every kind of movement releasing from my body except for that one I want.

Everything is becoming focused. Into one small space this energy seems to flow.

One final delicious dart of pleasure and finally, thankfully, I burst.

I feel my legs spasm, and Draco has kept going, but I grab his hand and hold it securely, dragging my forehead to his and kissing him, some of my sweat dripping onto his face.

"Did you -?" he asks immediately, pulling away.

I nod, unable to speak from lack of breath, and he grabs me, holds me tightly.

After a moment, looking down at his own evident arousal, I try to give some kind of thanks.  
"That was amazing," I breathe. "I – I don't know if I'm ready for – to you know –"

"_It's okay," _he shushes me, and I look up to see him grinning. "Take your time, don't hurry it, I don't want you to ever feel rushed, uncomfortable."

"Thank you for understanding," I express, burrowing my head into his chest.

We stay that way for another long while until we realize it's almost 10 pm, our curfew. We redress, and giggle to each other as we pass Madam Pince, pass everyone through the halls. It dawns as me as he's walking me to the tower that we just were naughty in the library.

Odd that that has never been one of my fantasies. I think it will be now.

He wishes me a good night, and I tell him I'll see him tomorrow.  
I feel like I'm on cloud nine when I get back to the common room, I cannot stop from exuding happiness.

Even Lavender's stupid comment of "What are you so cheery about?" doesn't deter this joy. I get my pyjamas on, feeling exhausted like I did earlier, and look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth.

I'm glowing.  
I appear as good as I feel on the inside, a rare occurrence for me.

I'm not distressed that I didn't study tonight, I'm enlightened that Draco and I had another one of our talks, even if it was short. Even better, I want what just happened to occur a lot more, and hope I'm ready to please him like he's done for me.

I've never felt so close to another human being than I do right now, Harry and Ron are never that open, even Ginny has never disclosed such information to me. Experiencing such intimacy with him makes me want to trust him.

I tuck myself into my bed, head swirling with thoughts. And I realize, in the quiet of the empty room, something before a few months ago I would've never thought possible.

I didn't think I'd ever feel this way, that I'd ever get my hard head to soften. This isn't weakness, this isn't loss of control.  
I am falling in love with him.  
And it feels nice.  
So perfectly nice.


	45. What Ginny Said

**_Oh it looks like the war was in your head; Not your heart.  
Just when you think it's figured out, well it all falls apart._**

**_It's like the calm before the storm,_**  
**_You better swim._**  
**_Just like it's cold before it's warm,_**  
**_You'll get back here again._**

- **_Angels Losing Sleep_****, Our Lady Peace**

* * *

"You _what!?"_

Ginny, who was drawing a landscape of Hogwarts, accidently drags a huge charcoal line through the castle roof.

"Sorry," I apologize, as she waves her wand to erase the offending streak.

She, Luna and I are sitting on the grounds far away enough so we can see the Black Lake and the school. It's Sunday, the snow has all melted and it's decently warm. I'm knitting for stress relief (the performance is tomorrow!), and Luna is reading the newest edition of the _Quibbler._

I just told them I think I'm falling in love with Draco.  
A bonding moment in most circles of girls, but in this one it's an invading snake come to poison me.

"That's a very good drawing Ginny, it's a shame we don't have any art classes at Hogwarts," Luna says airily, ignoring the topic at hand.

"Thanks, Luna. Hermione –" she says curtly, eyes as bright as her hair, "_love? _So he can make you come, don't confuse lust with it. Passion for romance. You've been dating for a _month." _

She brushes her hand along my neck, where there is a remnant of a hickey Draco gave me.

I blush furiously, glad there's nobody around and regretting that I ever told her about our night in the library. She cornered me yesterday, apologising for being so unresponsive when everyone was attacking Draco and I at the table. She admitted she was just too in shock that Harry would've reacted so badly, and for once in her life didn't know how to handle it.

I told her that I didn't blame her, and I'm glad she acknowledged that she messed up, because honestly, I was upset. She's always the first one to stand up for everyone. She shouldn't have to do everything for my behalf if she doesn't like him, but it's grating on me every day, every minute really. This sudden switch in my social life. This constant disproval for who I've decided to hang out with.

"I'm not confused," I say confidently. "You know I'm rational about everything, you think I haven't contemplated it? I can actually trust him enough to touch me, I don't regret it. It felt good, it wasn't awkward, well too awkward, and it didn't feel _weird. _The way it went was well, completely unparalleled to when Ron and I were going to try."

She grimaces and then looks down at her sketchbook, silent.  
Luna smiles at the sunshine, lying back on the grass unaffected.

"How long was it for you when you and Harry dated?" I ask, trying to keep any edge from my voice, any accusation. I'm actually curious. If she had sex during school in the first few months they dated, they must've done more.

"How long was what?"

"Well, before you got intimate like that?"  
A month doesn't seem that long to me, but I've never dated anyone besides Ron, have I?  
"And come to think of it, before you felt love? Certainly you cared a lot about him didn't you?"

She looks upwards for a moment, thinking, and then states: "Two weeks before I love you. I let him touch me within the first week."

"Oh."  
Inadequacy is the feeling that swirls around my stomach.

"Yeah well, I had a crush on him for years. I wanted it, knew he did too. There's no point in waiting for something you can have," she replies a bit harshly. "Besides, wouldn't me knowing him already create trust before we dated, you know I had feelings long before, you and Draco are just starting to _like _each other surely you can't compare the two experiences?"

When did we become so awkward? God, I really do not enjoy this.

"Oh, I wasn't – I didn't mean – I was genuinely curious, Ginny. I'm _not_ judging you," I say helplessly, causing her to scrunch her eyes at me. "I wish I could be like you, so self-assured, so unafraid. I just let it happen, you know? I asked him to do it, not the other way around, and it was great. It makes me wonder why I can't always let my inhibitions just fly out the window and listen to my gut instead of my head for reasons why I should reconsider."

"Really?" she asks after a moment, staring at me oddly.

"Of course. I guess I wish I could relax a bit, I'm so self-conscious that I'm going to do something incorrectly. And you rarely go wrong, but if you do, you laugh it off. I'd have a heart attack."

She looks at me for a moment, then shakes her head.

"Hermione, it's all new to you. He's a _person _not an essay. You have to realize that relationships can't be perfect, you don't get O's on them, or graded. If you did, that would be horribly controlling and boring. Draco must be feeling similar things, if not amplified. He cares a lot about you, it's so evident because of the way he puts up with everybody, no resistance, no arguments with you. And he dated _Pansy, _for Merlin's sake. Maybe you don't have a lot of experience, but at least Ron is decent, and hell Viktor was a gentlemen for writing to you all those years, he genuinely liked you."

"I _know," _I reply wearily, taking in her words. I've heard it all before and now, though I really appreciate her wisdom, it's frustrating me. "I'm sorry, I just can't get over this dread of screwing up. I think because of the way people are treating me I feel the extra push to make this work. And that's not healthy is it?"

"No. Look, I don't mind Draco but he's _trying _to be personable. And from his past endeavours, I would _not _bank on trusting him so soon. That's just me, you have your own prerogative to his behaviour. But love?...hmm."

Am I being an idiot for liking him so much? Should I be so blind to his younger behaviour?

"Dad always says that love should come easy," Luna rings in, making my stomach plummet.

This is supposed to be _easy?_ Having old friends call you out, reject you. Becoming a social leper when I'm hell-bent on being a perfectionist?

"Luna, I don't think that's the sort of thing she wants to hear right – "

"Ginny!"  
We all swing our heads to Michael Corner, who has come over to us from the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Ginny," he says, a bit out of breath after jogging over to us. "I was wondering if you wanted to practice a bit more before tomorrow? I know we didn't plan it or anything, but I would feel better if we could practice a few more times. The room's been full all day and I've just been past it, there's only one pair in there now."

Ginny looks at me, and I nod my head, urging her to go.

"Yeah, alright. Talk later?" she smiles standing up, folding her drawing. "See you at dinner, Luna."

"Bye," Luna says, still looking at her article about the hunt for Wrackspurts.

"_Harry's not going to be mad, right?" _I hear Michael ask nervously as they walk away.

I'm unsure of what to say, Luna and I have never managed to get on with flowing, agreeable conversation one on one. So I try to just sit in contented silence, but while Luna is perfectly fine, I'm not, I've never been one to be hushed in company.

"You know Hermione," she says suddenly, making me jump and drop my needles. "I didn't mean to say that having a _relationship_ was easy_, _that's not what dad means. He just thinks that it should come natural to like the person you're with, to talk to them, to be with them. And that they make you happy. That's how it's always been with Ginny. With Neville, Harry. Even Ron and you, though maybe we don't have much in common," she reasons, looking at me kindly.

"I – I don't know what to say, Luna," I reply truthfully.

"That's okay. You think I'm a bit strange. But you've always been nice to me, so I don't mind. You don't avoid me like everybody else seems to. They aren't my friends; I don't think I'd want to have friends who weren't nice, and especially not a boyfriend, or girlfriend. I just want you to be happy, Hermione, that's all. If Draco makes you happy, then there's nothing to worry about, that's all Harry is worried about. Same with Neville. With Ron."

"I guess you're right," I say, unnerved by her honesty and pinpoint logic as always. She has an uncanny ability to make me feel so uncomfortable with the truth. "I suppose I've been too hopeful that they'll come round. I know they care about me, it simply makes it seem as if I am not trustworthy in my judgement."

"I heard a muggle song once, and it was called 'Don't Worry, Be Happy', I think. I thought that was a nice statement, don't you? Don't worry, just be happy. If you are happy, others will be too."

I let that rattle my brain for the umpteenth time this past half hour and notice Draco striding through from the other side of the grounds, alongside Theodore. Or Theo. Whatever.

I didn't see him at all yesterday save for lunch when I told him we should practice today. Maybe nows a good time.

"Hey Luna, Draco is over there, I think I'm going to go practice like Ginny now. "

"That's nice."

I get up, dust off my skirt. "See you later, okay? Are you coming for the performance tomorrow?"

"Yes, Neville insisted I go for moral support." Aw.

"I'm glad, it's nice to know one person won't be criticizing me."

I wave at her, she returns it, and then I make my way over to the Slytherin pair, only to get closer and realize that Theo is _not _a happy camper.

"Draco!…." I trail, his face lighting up a bit when he sees me walking to him, though Theo's frowning from a task at hand. "Hi Theo."

"Hey Granger," Draco says, pulling my hand along to go with them, smiling at me.

"Uh, what's wrong?" I ask. "And where are we going?"

"It would seem that Nott has lost his partner. We cannot find her. And he refuses to tell me what he did to piss her off, but of course forced me to come along with him anyways."

"_Forced?_" His Slytherin friend asks.

Draco doesn't seem the type to be pushed around. Except maybe by me.

"Okay so I had nothing better to do."

"He's been pestering me to tell him what happened instead of helping," Theo says, very irritated. "And hi."

"Where have you been so far?" I can't help but be amused, they're like schoolchildren. But this is serious business, a non-compliant partner could cost grades, and a friendship come to think of it.

"Library, practice room, Great Hall, common room obviously. Where the fuck did she go?"

"Why are you so worried? She's probably _busy," _Draco laughs, shaking his head at me.

"How can she be _busy!?" _he snapped, causing Draco to flinch at the uncharacteristic tone. "Tomorrow is our performance, she should relax and just enjoy her goddamn weekend!"

He spins round and stomps away, leaving us a bit aghast, and confused about what to do.

"Nott, come on," Draco rolls his eyes, following him again. "Just tell me what you said to her to piss her off, I'm sure Hermione can figure out where she went, she's pretty good at that sort of thing."

"And WHAT made you assume that I said _anything _to her at all!"

He flips his direction so he's facing us, his greasy hair a frustrated mess, his stature overwhelming even to Draco.

"You don't exactly have a track record of saying the right _thing, _Nott," Draco states, refusing to be goaded.

"Yeah, well this time it wasn't me, Malfoy," he chuckles humourlessly.

"Then what? She just disappeared and wouldn't tell you why?"

Red is trailing up Theodore's face, anger buzzing through him ready to be released.

"She told me last night," he says slowly, unsettling me, "that her mum and dad have finally had it. They're splitting up. Done. And when _I _tried to comfort her, tried to be her friend, she told me to leave her alone. I stopped her, grabbed her and said she shouldn't _be_ alone. That when my dad kept me and my mom left, he isolated me with such bitterness from his mistakes that I hated everybody and everything. She just started crying, she ran away. I haven't seen her since. You can probably fucking guess why I'm so _worried."_

My heart drops with sympathy for all these kids I never used to know, whose family lives seem so tragic and difficult when on the outside they seemed so uncaring, sturdy. All of their parents seem to be split up or unhappy. Pureblood prejudice seemed to bond these people together in my 13 year old mind. I used to think the Malfoy's were a dangerous entity, I saw them as a whole. I saw the Slytherin's as a whole, and I figured that's how they viewed everyone else; as enemies. It's odd now that they are all individual pieces I can distinguish.

I see Draco's expression mangle into some undecipherable emotion.  
"Nott…why didn't you just tell me that?" His voice is hard, quieter.

"And what? Have you insult me about wanting to bone Millicent one more time _Malfoy?_ "

"No! I would've told you you were being an idiot. If she wants to be alone, leave her be."

"What is she's hurting herself, what if she has nobody else but me right now?"

"Maybe she's not, maybe she needs some fucking space and wanted to cry without you seeing the tears," he retaliates, making me wonder why Draco feels so strongly about being solitary in times of despair. I would go mental with nobody to speak to.

"But she's been alone for so _long._ We all have! Look at you!" he shouts harshly. "Look how much better you are after two weeks of positive social interaction? I want to help. I want to be a friend!"

An embarrassed flush creeps over me that spreads to Draco, his face pink.

"Then be her friend and do as she says! She's going to be fine, it's _Millicent, _Nott. Millicent!"

"Why, because she's big she's supposed to be unbreakable, unemotional!?"

"No! But she's a Slytherin, pure-blooded _girl. _She has an iron will to survive, she just needs a moment to expose the sadness, and then compose herself."

"Not everybody is the damn same!" Theo is getting progressively louder. It's scary to witness. "What do _you_ know about_ friendship_ anyways_, _huh_? _ She hates you, by the way. Millicent. She fucking despises you!"

_Oh no._

"Pansy dropped her in third year and she became a social outcast like me, she thinks it's because you never liked her. And don't say you do, it's a lie. This past month I've realized that we could've had each other since the beginning, somebody to get us through our stupid childhoods, but we didn't! I've apologized for not being friendly sooner. But it all comes down to you, doesn't it? She's made me realize what you are."

"And what am I?" Draco asks, offense dripping from his lips.

"You're a user."

"A _user?"_

Please do not let this happen, _please, please, please.  
_I'm frozen to the spot, I have no idea what to do.

"Yeah, I never had a word for it, though we _all_ could see through you. You take people and manipulate them to get what you want. I'm sick and fucking tired of you using me when you need me._" _ His venomous words would've slapped him across the face if they had physical force.

"How am I using you, Theodore?" he asks seriously, catching Theo off guard with the proper use of his name. "I'm not insulting you when I poke fun at you, I thought you understood that by now. I'm teasing you, isn't that what friends do?"

"Friends? Like I said, what do you know about the word? We're not friends, Draco."

"Then what are we? You've shared with me more than you ever have this year, and I you. You told me what Millicent was going through when we came back from break? I don't get it, you think I would've told somebody? I'm trying so hard Nott, so fucking hard this year. I'm going through that exact same thing as she is, only everybody knows and it fucking blows, doesn't it? I get it, and you get it, why are you so hostile? I'm not exactly in a position to pass up somebody being nice to me."

God, no. Draco, _wrong thing to say. _

"Exactly,' You're not in a position to'!" he points out straight into his chest. "You don't actually want me as your friend, you were just surprised that everybody turned a blind eye at the beginning of the term. So you decided that it would be of use to you to be kind to me. You are the only guy here above age 15, I hated Graham, and that's why I decided to ignore our past, why I let go the grudge I had. The memories of the mockery you constantly made me when I didn't want to join your colony of assholes. You knew I was your reputable equal but you used your dad and your better looks to take everyone away from me. And you _never _apologized. Not once," he bites. "Still haven't."

Draco's face flickers with surprise, but he tries to keep it stone-faced until he's finished, cause it is clear he is not.

"Here I am being kind and you constantly act like I'm some annoyance, a thorn on your side. You dropped me when you got back to spend time with Hermione on weekends, and if you weren't with her, you'd be talking about her, or playing your stupid piano, you gave up on me because you had somebody else to make you feel like you weren't alone."

"Theodore, I never meant –"

"Don't 'Theodore' me, it's too late. Of course you never meant to make me feel like that, you idiot. You don't understand friendship, and you never will. It's not a trade, favour for favour. It's supposed to be that we have each other's backs no matter what, and you don't get that because of the way you thought you 'owed' me something for saving your life. You didn't owe me anything, but it would've been nice to feel like you actually like me instead of just tolerating me. You're just like everybody else in Slytherin, you know?"

I think Draco recognizes that Nott is channeling his anger at himself over to him, but that doesn't mean he's going to be unaffected. He's shaking, visibly affronted by words that I have no say in whether they're true or not. I'd wager they're more than true, but it's so harsh to hear your efforts are not enough.

"I wasn't trying to use you," Draco says, his voice controlled. "To be honest, I never liked you much at all before this year. I realize now you're a decent person, but it's difficult for me to open up to the idea of trust, especially with what I _have _done to you. And I _did _owe you one for saving me, you didn't owe me a thing before this year and yet you were not full of scorn like I expected everyone to be. You are one of the few who are not. Maybe Astoria is nice to me, maybe Graham is just a friendly person. But you don't see me trailing them trying to help, see them talking to me anymore. They don't care."

"What are you trying to say?" Theo asks with narrow eyes. "That I do?"

"I'm saying you're right, I used you. And I'm sorry."

"You're just saying that to look good in front of her." Theo looks at me with wild eyes, and I stare at the ground, feeling like I violated some sort of important confrontation in Draco's life. "You don't mean it!"

"Obviously I do!" Draco replies frustrated. "You care, otherwise you wouldn't be so upset right now!"

"Fuck you, Draco. I don't believe you. Why are you backing down so easy?" Theo asks curious, unfamiliar with this new breed of Slytherin.

"Because I give up," Draco replies strained. "I've given up trying to pretend like I'm a decent human being. I'm not, and I realize I fucked up badly, I constantly fuck up. But you know I really have been trying. And I've never had a real friend before, Pansy and Blaise were the closest thing and even they were as guarded as me."

Theo pauses, shaken by this confession.  
He then sighs.

"Fucks sake, Malfoy, you have to stop being such a martyr. It's unattractive, and I'm sure Hermione is sick of it."

Draco snaps his head up at the jab.

"I don't feel sorry for you, not at all. Not when you don't realize that you need my kindness more than I need your forced version of it. You do not deserve my sympathy."

Though he's said worse things, Draco's wavering demeanour shows that this is the statement that's affected him the most.

"Then _why_ bother still even associating with me? If you hate me so much, if Millicent hates me?"

"Good question."

He stalks away, leaving Draco standing alone, and I with a hand to my mouth, completely gobsmacked at this whole development. And while I'm upset that he verbally attacked Draco, _Poor Theo. _Poor Millicent.

This whole thing is just awful.

I'm stranded in silence, unable to come up with anything that's going to soothe, or help. I touch his arm to tell him without words I'm still here for him, but he doesn't react. Doesn't seem to feel anything.

"Draco, he was very angry, but I think once he's calmed down he's going to apologize. And I think you need to apologize too, for whatever offences you committed before now."

I almost think he's tuned me out, tuned the world out, until he shakes me away and turns to me, almost smiling to himself though his eyes are displeased.

"What good will that do? You heard him, he doesn't like me. He tried, I tried, and I didn't ace the test. He passed, I failed. And he's right, I've been acting like such a victim when really, I've been such an asshole my _whole _life. I don't deserve his kindness just like I constantly try to convince you I don't deserve yours."

"Yes you do, you're different. You _understand _your mistakes, you admit to them. You have to forgive yourself Draco, even if other people may not."

He glances at me, alarmed by what I've said.

"Do _you_ forgive me? _Honestly?"_

"Yes," I reply without hesitation. "You also heard Theo say that positive social interaction has made you happier, maybe better. Don't try to make me run away if you think I'm a good thing to have around. If you made a mistake, than correct it. Don't give up because it doesn't go your way the first time."

"Maybe I want to give up, maybe I'm tired of trying to care when it gets me nowhere."

Why is he saying this? Doesn't he realize that Theo was really upset to the point of spouting out things just to make Draco feel anguish?

"Am I 'nowhere' then?"

He freezes, turns to me and glares. Like I've asked an idiotic question.

"I think you know the answer to that, Hermione. All I'm saying is up until last year I enjoyed my life more not giving a fuck about anybody but myself." He's crossing his arms and walking far too fast towards the Black Lake.

This comment stings a part of me I cannot name, but I know that he doesn't mean that. Because of what Ginny said.

I speed up my pace and catch up to him, refusing to be discouraged like he was moments ago.

"The problem Draco is that now you _do _care about people. You really love your mother, you are selfless in the love for your father. And maybe you don't have many friends, but you care about me. Theo doesn't see it because he just can't believe you'd change. He doesn't see it because you're obviously struggling with it." Draco doesn't stop so I grab his shoulder and make him look at me, in my eyes. "But you _are _trying, you have _not _given up. I don't know why you would even think that. Stop being rude and talk to me!"

I grab his face with both my hands, pulling it up from the ground. He's become defeated, his posture deflating.

"How do you know I care about you, Granger? How do you know, in your heart, that this isn't all just an act like everybody says?"

"Because it's so evident that you care," I repeat Ginny's words. "Because of the way you put up with everybody, no resistance, no arguments. Because you came to my house, you tried to apologise to my friends, and you talk to me in conversations I don't have with anybody else. You hexed Ron because of a crush."

"How do you know I'm not just really really good at all that? That this isn't some elaborate plan like you know I'm capable of?" I know he's not trying to piss me off anymore, he really wants the answer. I know he just wanted to be alone, but I can't let him sit here and think that he's worthless.

Theo was right, him being a martyr all the time is not attractive. I don't want somebody to 'save' I want somebody great to be with. I need him to get out of this funk, and it's going to be tough but he needs to feel happiness, needs to know there is _life._

I let go of his cheeks and instead intertwine my fingers with his.

"You wouldn't have confessed all these things to me had you not been serious. Had it been a game. You wouldn't have cried, or brought me to Azkaban. You can tell me it would be convincing, that you would have, but I'm not an idiot, Draco. You are sad and the part of you that craves company is broken because you don't know how to use it, you're too proud. You needed somebody to open up to, and for some fault in our universe you chose me, and I reciprocated. For some fault in the universe, you proved me wrong. I really thought I'd see that you are the same person, was afraid of my attraction. But I see the side of you that nobody else seems to know. The ones that jokes, the one that smiles, doesn't smirk, the one that hides because it was taught to. And I like it. I like you, a lot. You can feel it when somebody loves you, when somebody wants to be around you. Every time I see you smile at me, I realize that you want me around. And I hope that you can feel my affection too, because I want the better version of you to stay. It's been a crazy school year, this past month has felt like an illusion. Getting to know you has been a trip. But I can tell you with certainty I've enjoyed the good parts, and I understand you from the bad. I just want you to be happy, Draco. I'm happy. Even with people hating us, I haven't felt discouraged. If we could pass that first hectic week, we can pass the rest. I've been upset at the reactions, but it's never once crossed my mind to end it. There's so much you've been through, that I have, but just like I realized, I want you to know there's more to life than pain. It would be nice if we could explore it together."

I squeeze his hands. He looks at me, eyes flowing with tears. Though it's not my intention, he is squeezing back and I know i've made the message clear.  
I let him think out what he wants to say, and I want him to say anything by the stillness of the water, the lack of breeze.

Instead of a verbal response he answers by jerking me towards him and holding me tighter than he ever has, pulling me into the ground, underneath a willow tree where we've ended up, hidden from Hogwarts.

He's choking out words finally, making me want to cry along with him.  
I will remain together.  
"You make me happy too, Hermione," he says softly into my ear. "I'm sorry I said I enjoyed my life more last year, it's not true. I started to enjoy my life when I realized with you that I could finally be myself. I'm just so afraid of who I am, I'm scared of everybody though I don't show it. I'm afraid that people won't like me when I am not being rude. So I continue to be rude. They have such power against me, a bad one. Yours is refreshing, the way you treat me like I'm a human being, like i'm not just a name or a label. A friend, something I've rarely experienced. It's just overwhelming."

"I know, Draco, I get it. It's hard to say what you really feel when you constantly are under scrutiny, being judged." I stroke his hair, hoping my arms around his head will be comforting enough.

"I screwed up with Nott. He was right, I needed him more than he needed me. I guess I just have a hard time realizing that not everybody has an agenda, that I can trust people. Most people would've hated me, being in Slytherin, even if I didn't make my presence known. And I carry it with me now."

"Well don't. A lot of kids won't forgive you, but they aren't going to really matter in a year or so, are they?"

"What about Potter? Weasley? They'll matter. What if we're still together then?" He pulls me back so I can view him.

"Then give it another year. Look, Draco, one day they're going to realize they can tolerate you, and that day won't be soon, but it'll come. If you can try for me, I'll try for you. I want to help you feel okay, but I don't want that fact to allow you to wallow for more than necessary. I'd love for you to be confident, like I said. When people realize you don't care, not because you think you're better than them, because you are comfortable, they'll stop."

"Well that'll take a while," he pouts. I cut his moping off with a kiss.

"Shush. It does not matter how slow you go as long as you do not stop," I say.

"Dumbledore?"

"Confucius," I correct him, and he breaks out into a grin. "And as a last note, I can tell by the way you kiss and touch me you're not pretending. It's too good to be fake."

"More like too good to be real."

"Smooth."  
He starts to laugh as I wipe away the salty remnants of his gloom and he begins to snog me again, without haste.

Our embrace is deliberately slow, deliciously slow. He lays me down beside him and we hold each other just kissing for what feels like minutes.

It turns out to be hours as we both find out when we realize the sun is almost down.

"Got a bit carried away, didn't we?" I ask pulling away, my chest thumping still, my lips swollen and my clothes a dirty mess from the ground.

"Not at all," he replies, causing me to giggle.

"Wanna go back in then? It's nearly 8."

"Oh, I guess so. Think it may be a bit late to practice now? I guess that's why you wanted to see me initially?"

"You know what, I'm completely stress free right now, just leave me alone til tomorrow when I freak out and you'll wish I were never born."

"We'll practice in class before we go, Granger. Don't worry. We know it like it's been tattooed into our fingers and vocal chords."

"And the stress of performing into a crowd of hate?"

"Psh, been there done that, won the award. And I always came out on top in my mind. Let's see if I can come out on top for real this time."

"See, positivity, you have it!" I poke him in the ribs and he smirks.

"More like ego. Fake it til you make it I suppose." He clutches me again and pecks my lips. "Thanks for being here by the way. For me. And not leaving like I'd hoped you would."

"I know being alone is your way of dealing but this time I didn't think it would help."

"Well I appreciate it…I hope Nott found her."

I press my lips to him one last time, letting it linger; "I know he did. If not he, she found him. You should go find out."

He agrees, we stand up, and walk leisurely back to the school, going in through the doors towards the dungeon.

I'm about to say goodbye at the entrance to his dorm when we hear, "Draco!", with surprise.

It's Theo. And he's with her, safe and sound.

He's looking a bit mortified at ending up where he is, right near us, inescapable because they have to go past to go in. She looks ill at ease, no doubt haveing been recounted the fight.

"Nott," Draco nods calmly, and I can tell he'll be fine at least for tonight.

"Er – about earlier -"

Draco puts a hand out. "No, just- just leave it. And if you can't, leave it for tonight. I don't want to talk about it, you know what I said and how I feel, it still stands. Just go inside, I'll see you there."

Nott has no answer, so he just complies without opposition.

They go in, muttering 'Merlin' to the wall to dissolve it, and look a bit sheepish.  
The tension leaves with them and I get one last embrace before going back to the common room I'm allowed into.

"See you tomorrow, Hermione."

He grins at me and I feel, walking away, as if there was some kind of lateral shift today. Though I wouldn't be able to give it a title if I tried.

Right now I try to enjoy the feeling of butterflies bouncing through my stomach because tomorrow they will be dead, and my body will be hollowed out with anxiety, as it does before every test I've ever had.

It feels good to know that Draco is happy with me, that being with me has had a positive impact. And I'm glad he knows he makes me feel nice too.

The butterflies presence, I understand, as I make it to the Fat Lady, are here because of the intense elation I feel.

We're falling in love, it's a certain thing.  
I can almost taste it, I hope to feel it soon.


	46. I Think I'm Pretty Sure

_**You won't get much closer, until you sacrifice it all,  
You won't get to taste it, with your face against the wall.**_

_**Doubts will try to break you, unleash your heart and soul.  
Trouble will surround you, start taking some control.  
Stand up and deliver, your wildest fantasy.  
Do what the fuck you want to, there's no one to appease.**_

_**Ooh, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes, and this chaos, it defies imagination.**__**  
**_

_**- Panic Station, Muse**_

* * *

7:30 AM: Wake up, rub eyes and recall the previous days events.

7:31 AM: Remember idiocy, remember overreacting, remember weepy tantrum, bump head on headboard in annoyance at self. Get dressed and avoid Nott.

7:45 AM: Arrive at the Great Hall quickly as possible because appetite is hearty this morning

7:47 AM: Hermione comes lumbering over from barely eaten porridge and proceeds to freak out. ("I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE PERFORMING IN LESS THAN 12 HOURS!")

7:51 AM: Still freaking out – Good god, she spent two hours in the library before breakfast.

7:55 AM: Almost have her calm -

8:00 AM: Promise to skip breakfast to practice before class in an attempt to make sure she doesn't explode.

9:15 AM: After playing our piece nearly 10 times, we are both late for Charms, causing a stirring of crude sexual suggestions and disproving glares from peers.

10:30 AM: Cannot concentrate in Astronomy, nerves mounting about this evening once I'm alone with my thoughts. Sidenote: Why the hell did I even take this class?

11:27 AM: Professor Binns is an idiot. Will he ever shut up? Who knows? The saga continues. Sidenote: Remember why I took Astronomy; to go outside and get away from this stuffy castle.

12:52 PM: Arithmancy; at least Granger is actually in this class. Too bad we're not sitting next to each other. Should've taken Muggle Studies instead of this garbage, I don't give a shit about the magical properties of the number 7.

1:40 PM: We're back in the seventh year practice room, filled with students just as anxious as Hermione and I. Still no food in my stomach. Guess lunch isn't an option.

2:30 PM: Double potions….yay. Potter gives me a death glare when Hermione decides to be my partner; Weasley spills their cure for boils all over the table. Pity.

4:00 PM: Final class of the day; Music. More fine tuning before dinner, McGonagall lets us have free reign, thank god. She's just as stressed about the superintendents coming. We have handed in our written assignment, causing terror and fear in my neurotic girls heart.

5:35 PM: Back at the fair Slytherin Table, where we lay our scene.

Hermione is going to have an aneurysm. I can sense her brain exploding at any moment now.

I, on the other hand, may have an explosion of my own, if you catch my drift.  
Hermione insisted we go change into something impressive. I picked a black blazer with a scarlet t-shirt and dragon leather pants for laughs. I figure if I'm going to be faced with major scrutiny in this crowd I may as well be obnoxious as I can.

Hermione is in that green dress from the first day I went to her house during break. Wild hair, bare legs and some cleavage, she looks positively tantalizing.

"Oh god, I think I may have forgotten to capitalise one of the song names on the third page of analysis! I am _so sorry! I'm so sorry!" _she practically cries in her hands as I attempt to actually pay attention to her ramblings. I've been casually (read; obviously) staring her up and down for the past half hour.

I pat her head in a 'there, there' motion, taking hold of her hand.

Even if I cared about her mistake, I don't, truly and honestly there is nothing she could do to piss me off tonight and probably forever. Yesterday proved that she fucking cares a lot about me, everything became excruciatingly real. Up until then I was trying to find reasons why I didn't care because I was so scared of the fact that she would.

Nott's confrontation with me was such a wakeup call; a rude awakening would be more accurate. I never suspected that he'd go off on me like that and actually be, well, _right._

And though Hermione is convincing me to be a better person, I'm not so sure I'm as good as she think I can be. But damn, I have to try.  
I have to try harder.  
No actually, I have to stop being hard.

Speak of the devil, Nott is chancing glances at us from the end of the table, gauging my emotions today. I don't think he feels bad for what he said. Rather he probably realized he went a bit too far. He was pissed off because of Millicent and he took it out on me.

I hope he doesn't dwell in any case (a bit would be nice though). I didn't see them practicing at all today. Maybe he just doesn't give a fuck and is more concerned about her welfare than his academic future, which is the right thing to do in this circumstance.

I think if I had a meltdown today, Hermione would be lost as to what action she should take because she'd want to practice the hell out of our set like we have been and then would've tried to cheer me up too. And then set her own mind properly. It must suck to be so caring.

"I reread it a thousand times, how could I have done something so _stupid?!"_

"Hermione," I command, trying not to laugh at how fretful her face is. I grab her shoulders to make her still and she looks at me, breathing heavily. "It's done. We worked our asses off in the library this past week, remember? We handed it in, nothing we can do about it now. And it was perfect, only had to reread it once to see that. You're better than answering questions though, good thing you barely let me in edgewise."

She gives me a solemn smile, blushing.  
"It wasn't _perfect. _I just can't help it, I am going to be worried until we receive our marks."

"Well it was better than anything I'd write alone. It's good to be scared about it, it means you care. But look, there's no point in getting overwhelmed at the thought of what _could_ be when you'll know how it is in a few days. We have the performance in 2 hours, we know it top to toe, just try and channel your apprehension into determination."

"You're not going to tell me to relax?" she asks, fidgeting in my grip, tapping her fingers on the bench.

"I would if it helped, but it won't. You always come out on top acting the way you are, you're spurred on by your wracked nerves. I get it. I work better with less pressure so I've been mentally trying all day to convince myself that I'm the best thing that ever graced the planet so nothing and nobody will faze me."

"Oh….I guess I've caused you a lot of stress then haven't I? I just think one can never be good enough, that's hard to cope with when you like to pretend you're great. Is your thing working?"

"I don't pretend I'm the best, I _am _the best," I chuckle. "And not exactly. I just find that overconfidence works for me, that's how I managed to piss you lot off all those years. I know it bothered you that I barely reacted."

"_Barely_ reacted?" she giggles incredulously.

"Okay, maybe not _always," _I feel my cheeks turn pink, thinking of Buckbeak. "But when you insulted me back I think I deflected it alright."

"Well, I suppose," she looks up to the ceiling, thoughtful. "But you needn't do that now. If it helps you in school, alright, but if it's a fake emotion, don't act on it."

"Promise," I agree, slapping my hand on the table. "Now…on to big business. Besides you _eating something, _any corrections you noticed for me?"

"Oh, right," she mumbles, grabbing a random jug, pouring some juice in her empty cup. "No corrections, your piano was good. Just try hard to stay in time once I count myself in. Me?"

I daren't say it but I must for the sake of 100%. I hope she doesn't kill me: "Erm, you were a bit flat singing the verses."

She was guzzling her drink but halts mid gulp to stare at me, eyes wide with self-consciousness.

"Look, it wasn't bad. We're not being graded on our singing ability anyways. Chalk it up to strained vocal chords, Hermione. We did it about a million times today."

"How flat? What note? Was it the C sharp? God why did I even _pick _Muse! Why did I pick a song with vocals? Why couldn't I pick a nice symphony or a duet? I had to –"

"Stop it!" I cover her mouth gently with my hand and she steadies her breathing to normal. "I'm sure I wasn't a-plus at singing too, was I?"

"Mmphhll – Well, no," she answers, pushing my arm away. "But I feel responsible considering I chose the song."

"It's fine, Hermione. I like the song, I want to do it. We have to be honest with each other if we want to do awesome. Just drink some water and clear your throat, you'll sound great. Now judge my singing," I flick my fingers back and forth gesturing to lay it on me.

"Um, well you sing a bit restrained, like you _know _you're being heard and are hesitant about how good you are. I don't know if this is something you can just reverse in an hour, but you know." She shrugs.

I consider this for a moment, realizing she's right.  
Merlin knows that the plebeians need one more thing to mock me for. If these pants aren't distracting enough, having to _sing _sing (and suck at it) certainly will. Probably cause lovely re-enactments from Finnigan or Weasel tomorrow.

"Alright milady, I'll keep that in mind."  
She smiles at me and begins to finish her measly meal until she clanks her goblet down suddenly.

"Oh my god."

"What? What is it?"

She looks positively alarmed, turning white as if she'll be sick.

"When I was in the library this morning, I read through our paper as _well _as looking up properties for transfiguration and I left my assignment on the table. And it's due in a week!"

She swings her legs over her seat and sprints in her little dress all the way out of the hall.  
Dammit.

I grab her bag with our sheet music in them and chase after her, knowing if she doesn't retrieve her notes she's going to be absolutely pissed.

On the way up past the Gryffindor hallway, Ginny yells to get my attention from the stairs, running and grabbing my arm to stop me.

"What's the hurry? Is everything alright?"  
She's dolled up too, holding her cello and getting ready to go down early to meet Michael Corner.

"Hermione left an essay in the library this morning because she was frazzled by our performance and the written assignment. She took off just now before I could say anything, so I'm going to go find her," I reply as her eyes grow wide.

"Ah, no! Code Red. She's going to be _freaking _out. Good luck," she says, patting my back to urge me to go on my way.

"Thanks." I'm running again, passing by students who are judging me hard, given my attire and socially unacceptable speed.

I get to my destination, wondering how the hell I got so far behind Hermione, weaving through shelves with no direction.

Just in front of the restriction section is where I find her, standing up straight by a workstation. I put my hands on her shoulders, about to ask if she's okay, surprised she isn't more fussy.

"_It's not here_."

"Sorry?"  
She's speaking so low.

"My paper. It's not here. I only used this desk to read before I skimmed our Music assignment."

I feel my stomach clench with nervousness at her colourless tone.

"Maybe it's still in your bag? You checked it didn't you, or upstairs in your – "

She shoves her open bag at my face and shakes her head. "No, I never keep my essays anywhere but my backpack, I have a charm set that goes off if somebody tried to steal anything from it."

"Wow, really?" I reply, impressed. "Maybe you could do that to – no, another time. Look, maybe Madam Pince has it, maybe somebody handed it in to her."

"I doubt it. And even if she does, she isn't at the front desk."

"Hermione, we'll find her tomorrow, I promise. We'll find it. We haven't checked everywhere. I don't want to be a dick but we have more pressing matters at hand right now. I'll help you redo it."

"No!" she flails her arms up to shake me off. "I want to find it, do it myself," she bites, causing me to step back.

"Look, I'm sorry Draco," she slumps. "Just, god, I lost something in here once before. Somebody found it, finished the ending, and handed it in to Flitwick. It was in fifth year. I had my name on it and everything, they crossed it out. The only reason they got caught is because I wrote an identical introduction in my fresh sheet and Flitwick called us in to ask about it."

"_What_?" Who the fuck does that? "Who did it, I'll kill them."

"Some Hufflepuff girl, I don't know her, and I don't care to. I just don't want it to happen again. I spent so much time on it, it was four pages, I can't _believe _I lost it, _ahh!"_

She grabs her hair in frustration and stomps the ground with her foot.

"You're sure you didn't go anywhere else? Not even to check a tiny detail or –"

"Oh my god!" She shouts. "I completely forgot. _The_ _reference room!"_

"The _what?" _  
Oh great, she's running away again.

"The reference room," she repeats as I follow her like a helpless dog. Pretty good analogy actually. "It's full of encyclopaedias that are too rare to check out. You need a key to get in, and permission from a head, which is likely why you've never been in. You probably didn't know it exists."

"No, I didn't. You're probably the only one left who knows about it," I say, and she rewards me with a death glare instead of a smile.

We stop in front of a dingy door, completely forgettable, no surprise I've never seen it before.  
"So you went in here then did you?" I ask as she pulls out a brass key from a zippered pocket.

"Yes, I was trying to find out who helped Gamp in outlining the laws of elemental transfiguration!" she exclaims opening the door. "I was in here for only 10 minutes, but I think I realized how little time I had to check our work, so I left right –"  
She jumps into the cramped room with a workstation and measly bookshelf; it's pristine and empty.  
"-away," she finishes disappointed.

She sinks against the bookshelf, dropping her bag on the ground and exhaling, let down.

"It's gone, it's so gone."

"You don't know that yet," I say softly.

"But where else could it be?"

"Again, Madam Pince isn't here. We'll ask that old hag and she'll lecture us the importance of keeping our belongings to ourselves until we fall asleep but _maybe_ she'll have it." She chuckles faintly to my delight and I grab her hand. "Come on, Hermione. Don't lose hope yet, that's for me to do."

"Oh stop it," she smiles, shoving my leg with her hip. "I suppose I'm overreacting. I'm just so stressed out."

"Yes, it's the same old song and dance, love. But it'll be alright, okay. It's going to be fine."

"You don't know that for sure. I guess I'll try to be cheery." She sighs deeply. "Now there's the fact that I don't want to go perform. Not while I have this anxiety of finding my notes on top of my anxiety of making a mistake in front of an audience."

"Try to forget about it, for only five minutes. We'll get on stage and it'll be over in a flash. The nerves will mount and then we'll be lost in playing the song. Then you can worry about everything afterwards. When we get on the stage just remember that you always do well, and you won't be alone, I'm going to help you, Hermione. Kay?"

"Didn't you tell me not ten minutes ago that I should channel my worry?"

"That was before you decided to have a panic attack," I smirk, standing in front of her, pushing her back against the desk and pulling out the chair. I sit down. "Here, get on my lap."

"Get on your lap? I thought we had more pressing matters?" she laughs, poking my nose in.

Taking her hand in mine, I spin her body around so she sits on my legs, facing frontwards, then place my hands on her shoulders. I begin to slowly knead the muscles there and on her neck, feeling her relax a bit in my grip (finally).

"We do, but I need you to be alright before said matters. And being tense is probably the worst thing for a musician to be before a big show, hmm?" I kiss her nape, causing a slight 'ah' to rise from her.

"You're probably right. That feels nice," she breathes.

"I'm glad."

"Mm, how are you so good at massages?" She lolls her head back against my forehead, her long hair getting in my eyes.

"I'm not," I chuckle. "You probably just don't have them very often."

"True," she murmurs while I move my hands further down her back.

I go for a few more minutes of loosening her up, enjoying the girly mewls she's trying so hard to stifle from me hearing. I can feel myself getting harder every time she emits a little groan.

"Question: how much longer til we need to get our things and go to the great hall?"

I stop to glance at my wristwatch. "It's almost 6. We're supposed to be there for quarter past 7, yeah? So an hour."

"Okay I have a bit more time to calm down. Thank you for being so patient with me today, I know I can be crazy."

"It's fine. I'd rather you be that way instead of uncaring."

She wriggles free from me, turning so she's straddling me now.  
"Yes, but if you operate differently from me it's much more difficult to deal with."

"Actually it's not. If we were both super anxious we wouldn't be able to get it together at all."

"You're right actually." She leans in, grabs my face to kiss me. "How do you seem to know the right thing to say?"

"Eh, I spent so long trying to come up with good insults, works both ways. I have my moments."

"You certainly do."  
I tug her in closer, wanting to taste her again.  
The way she looks at me is not the same way she looked at me a month ago.  
Fuck, she's so great.

"You look nice by the way, a tad absurd, but, hmm, sexy?" she whispers into my ear, moving her hands to my back and massaging me.

Alright, I'm reaching maximum capacity in my pants now. "Rubbing my back now? Bad idea, Granger. And sexy? Compared to _you_? Non, non ma cherie, I am nossing compared to you," I tease in a shitty French accent.

She giggles, melting her lips on me again. "You are ridiculous. And yes, _Pierre_, I don't want you tense either. How irresponsible that would be right before a test."

"Even more irresponsible than turning me on like this?" I reply, grabbing under her knees and using my measly might to get her up on top of the table.

"Oh, it might be. Doesn't seem like you mind too much, though." She wraps her legs around me to come a little closer, the desk low enough so my erections pressed up so near to her I could scream.

She's snatching patches of my hair, snogging me senseless, so fast, different from yesterday afternoon. There's no tame, no relent. Like we're drunk again, our protesting emotions abandoned.

"You have a weird effect on me lately, every time we're in close quarters I want to jump on you," she pants as she pulls away for air.

"Spring fever?"

"No, lust I think," she grins devilishly.  
And pushes the door closed with her foot.  
_And pushes the door closed with her foot._

My young boy fantasies are becoming real again.  
I'm almost laying on top of her, running my fingers along every inch of her I can, pulling her dress down to caress her breasts. She's taken my blazer off, she's got her hands on my hips, stroking the bare skin over my bone.

She's too damn close to my cock, my mind is diluted with the thought of shagging right here in the library.

"Touch me, please." She utters the words I so wish I had the guts to say, but I oblige, knowing where she means.

She digs her nails into me as I trail my hand where she wants it, rubbing her upper thighs gently, tempting her before I ease my fingers inside, pushing away her panties.

She grasps me tighter, kissing me in-between hitching breaths and silent whimpers of pleasure. I stroke her slowly, trying to build the pressure. But I give up halfway through, losing control and going quicker and quicker when I feel her getting wetter and wetter.

"_Draco."_

"Yes?" I ask, nipping her neck lightly with my teeth.

"_Draco, I want you_."

"You have me," I whisper against her cheek, feeling my insides fill with butterflies.

"No, don't be an idiot. I _want_ you. _I want to have sex_," she says so low I think I've misheard her.

Flooding images of her completely naked, of myself completely naked, of us together in the most intimate of ways arrive.

I want to make certain, my trousers threatening to rip in two. I move my hands to her hips and move my gaze to hers.  
Her sweet copper eyes are full of longing, and if there was any resolve left in me, she ghosts her hands tentatively along my erection and it's all but disappeared.

"You're sure?"

She nods, biting her lip, nervously she says it. A "Yes".

The word rings in my ears, the affirmation so beautiful. The room feels suddenly hazy, this is surreal and this can't be happening.

_But it is, _my conscious reminds me as the excitement is tearing through me, the idea that's been lingering, swirling my head for months coming to fruition.

And oddly, this doesn't feel too soon, even though it's so sudden. Perhaps it's because I've been ready for it, it's so uncharacteristic for Hermione, but me? Not at all, it's been me wanting her so badly, an unhealthy need.  
Perhaps it's because I care about her more than I let myself fathom.

And I'm kissing her again, even more passionate than before, because it's just the start. I want to rip off her dress, have her unzip my pants, and touch me through thin cloth, taking rasping gasps of air before pulling me bare, discarding everything below my waist.

So I do it.  
I tell her what I want, I _gently _desert her dress onto the floor and when I get my trousers off, she takes the initiative to feel me, and make me want to come right then. Tentative fingers skimming my length, unfamiliar territory.

I slide the only thing separating me from her down to her ankles, throwing them on the floor, kicking my way out of my tangled mess, our clothes away once and for all. And she's holding me so softly it pains me, inhaling erratically as she stares at me waiting to take the lead.

I can feel her vibrating with anticipation and apprehension, so I rub her most sensitive spot for a few seconds more, her moans sending me over the edge. But I can't hold back any longer, and I spread her legs apart.  
The buildup before we take this giant step, the tension growing every passing second feels like a weight on me, but I push the thoughts away of her having expectations of me because I know right now they won't be fulfilled, and I know right now it'll probably hurt. I just have to do the best I can.

And as I edge the tip close to feel her for the first time, I know she's thinking the same. By the way she stops and breathes my name.  
"_Go slow," _is all she can let escape, causing a smirk to fall on my face for reasons I can't explain.

"Promise." I can't think of any words or phrases that wouldn't be awkward, that would be comforting in any way.

I sense how she tenses: "Hermione, you should guide me in…it won't be as uncomfortable."  
I let that sentence tumble out, regretting it immediately by how bloody stupid it sounds, but knowing that it was the proper thing to say.

"Okay…" she stops for a moment, catching the eyes she was trying to avoid. She grabs my cock, not daring to actually look at it, and levels her face with mine.  
"_I'm ready_," she utters against my lips, shyly directing my erection to her again.

Resistance comes to my lower half, and a blissful feeling that swallows me whole.  
I grab her arse, enabling me to get in further, while she clutches my neck. I push myself in, she's squeezing me so hard, and she's oh so tight.  
It's fucking amazing.

She whines a little as I get all the way. One of pain, not pleasure.  
"_Are you okay_?"

Her arms wrap around me and I feel her shaking.  
"_No_."

* * *

Whoever said that your first time was merely awkward must have been having a grand old time, because I can feel Draco go soft inside of me, and I am so embarrassed I want to shrivel up really thin to join one of the pages of these books, never to be read again.

He pulls out of me, disappointment etched on his face, though he's trying to hide it.  
"Draco – " I begin, words dying in my throat as he stares me in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I – just – I'm so scared, and I thought I could relax, but we have the performance and then I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that we're in a _book cupboard. _I'm very turned on, but I'm hesitant about it, and it hurt even though I thought I was mentally prepared for it and - _God!"_

I'm so pathetic!  
We started off _so _good, how can ten minutes change so much in temperament?

"Don't apologize, it's alright," he sighs, tucking his hands under my arms to embrace me. "Don't worry, Hermione, I'm nervous too."

"Really? Well you seem calm." Very calm, actually. I was fidgeting with my fingers and he was yanking off his shirt, whispering how much he longed for me to stroke him.

"I just really want you. And that's enough to make me forget about my insecurities. Trust me, everyone in the history of the world is anxious right before it happens regardless of how they act, especially if it means something."

Why does it have to mean something? Why does this have such a high pedestal in my mind?  
And I look at him, with his glistening skin, his messy pale hair and fervent grey eyes. His understanding nature, how much he's done to try and be with me, how much I know he appreciates me. How great I think him to be even with his faults and mistakes, how attracted I am to him.

That's why it all means something. The other person makes it so intimidating.  
Because if I have sex with him, our relationship will change, and it's not a bad thing, I'm simply overwhelmed with everything else going on right now.  
And it's not fair. Because I know the first time isn't good, it takes time to learn what we like inside and out.

"God, I want you too. I'm overthinking again, it's just –"

"Lovely girl, you must be ready to do it." he kisses me quiet, I smile wanly back. "It's been a month, I don't expect you to do a 180 and just abandon ship, be reckless in the library. You're too sensible with relationships for that."

His consideration is killing me.

"I just feel like I ruined it, it was a perfect moment, we both wanted it and then I had to go and listen to my prattling inadequate thoughts."

"You weren't ruining it, not really. This wouldn't be the same experience if it wasn't the Hermione experience. You need to unwind a bit, like you said. Look, I will wait for you, and give myself blue balls a hundred times more, repeat this experience if it means you'll enjoy it," he smirks, leaning against me again, drawing our bodies close together, the skin on skin sensation more delicious now I can appreciate it.

He's caressing my back, snogging me deeply instead of unrestrained, trying, I realize, to salvage this, to save it from being totally rubbish. From having me believe I totally screwed up.  
Something in my chest plummets and I'm overcome with a rush of affection for him.

"I can rectify this situation a little bit, if you'd like," I tell him, coming up for air.  
Truth is that I'm still turned on. And honestly, if I want to feel better about us doing it, I need to get better acquainted with the equipment for it to happen.

"What do you mean?"

"It's only fair that since I stopped you from getting off, I finish the job."

"Y-yeah?" he wheezes; I can feel his stomach heaving in and out.

"Yes, it was rather silly of me to think that I could properly have sex with you without knowing your body a bit better."

I push him away, unraveling my legs and jumping down. Though I'm unsure of what I'm doing, I know the mechanics, and I can certainly pay attention to his reactions. I grab his package firmly in my hand, feeling myself become wet when I see he's grown a little just from the contact. I look him in the eye, something to show the false confidence I have, and he tangles his hands in my hair, tugging me towards his mouth. Kissing my lips, moving down to plant some along my collar bone, up my neck, nibbling my ear to make me groan.

Dammit, he deserves this being so patient with me today. I slide my hands down his chest, scratching his thighs lightly as I dance them down to his feet as I get on bended knees, staring up at him from the carpet. I'm daunted by the prospect of his pulsing penis, now in my grip again. He went inside of me almost entirely, but he's so very thick I wonder if he'll fit in my mouth.

I swallow my nerves, take a deep breath and lick the tip. His body goes rigid; I run my tongue along his whole length. He lets a strangled moan escape, leaning back to clutch the back of the chair.

"Sit down," I command, while he lowers into the seat, in taking a breath of air.

"Ooh, I like when you tell me what to do," he replies huskily, smirking.

I give him a look, "Don't wreck the moment, funny boy."

"I'm being sexy, shut up, I'm really excited," he laughs. That is until I wrap my lips around him again and he's immediately silenced.

I ignore the strange sensation of sucking and try to focus on breathing. Close my eyes and listen to sounds he's making, so I can shove it as far down my throat as possible. I smell the clean scent of soap mixed with skin, I can hear him whimper, am aware of his fingers tightening their grip on the chair arms before he gently curls them into my hair, pushing my head down with the rhythm I've made.

And though I'd rather be the one fully in charge, his little noises, the ones he's attempting to suppress for fear of being loud are causing me to be hot and bothered, somehow the most erotic part of this whole encounter we've had in the room. I am incensed to try and get him even deeper, now I know I'm doing it alright, but I feel a protest in my vocal chords. I choke.

For a moment I think I made a huge mistake, was too cavalier, but then an '_Oh my god,' _is said, and it doesn't matter. And I realize I've been so hung up on doing everything 'properly' that I haven't just let go.  
The first time is important to me, but Draco , I suddenly realize, I can trust. I trust him.  
He's not going to leave me when this is over, he's not going to think I'm not enough. We've been through so much, that wouldn't make any sense.  
Our chemistry has been clear from the beginning, so what's stopping me now? Why have I let fear crippled me when before I never would've let it stand in my way of getting what I want.

As I'm getting him harder and harder in my mouth, knowing he's going to cum soon, I feel my lower half jumping with desire.  
I really want to fuck him, don't I?  
I want this. I _am_ ready for this.

Then a revelation hits me like a ton of bricks, and it engulfs me.  
I must ask him something.

"Draco – do you trust me?"  
I ask, standing up in front of his panting figure, a bewildered expression on his face.

"Y-yeah, of course I do, Hermione. If yesterday was any indication of – Yes, of course I do," he replies, flashing a quick smile, wiping sweat of his brow and intertwining a hand with mine, that was resting atop one of his.  
"Why – what's –"

And that's all the answer I need.

I take a deep breath, place a finger to his mouth, and straddle him once more, so his erection rests against my belly. This time no barrier between us.

"I don't want to make the same mistakes I did before. I want you, and I want you now," I tell him tenderly, pushing stray hairs off his forehead.

"You didn't make mistakes, Hermione. You weren't ready and you never talked about it, you didn't want it then," he swallows hard, a lump still in his throat.

"Yes, but I do now. And I am ready. I'm taking your advice and trying not to worry about it so much. Which is why I'm talking about it only briefly," I grin.

Pushing myself up on his legs, lowering a bit onto his throbbing cock, rubbing my clit up and down his tip to lubricate.

"_Fuck, Hermione_." He grabs hold of my waist. "That's my favourite thing, probably ever."

"I'll keep it in mind," I reply pleased. "I can see what you mean when you say you like to dominate, have control of the situation."

I let no more words out of our mouths as I ease him inside me, feeling immediate discomfort, but enjoying this angle far more than the other.

"_Jesus, you are _so_ tight," _he whispers through gritted teeth.

I can feel my body accommodating him after a few lingering moments, and as I pull up for a release, he yelps in pleasure. Sliding his grasp even lower, then around to my backside, he's eager to push me down, I know, but lets me take the lead.

There's a slow tempo that comes after the initial graceless start, and we get there with building intensity. When we do, there's room for less concentration on feeling comfortable, and more time to match our breaths. To match them in time with every thrust.

My grip has yielded, and I've draped arms around him, heads pushed together. His groans have become more regular, I'm trying to keep mine under control while I snog him. I don't want him to cum, I want this to last forever.

I just can't believe this is happening.

He's stopped kissing me suddenly; I let out a sharp intake of breath as he bites one of my nipples, sucking my breast tenderly afterwards, rubbing with perfect vigour.

As he switches sides, ghosting hands up and down, over my chest and back again, I feel arousal become more pronounced in my core, and I clench my knees tighter to his sides, grinding ever so slightly faster, wanting him deeper.

"Hermione – dammit, I'm so close."  
He looks at me with apologetic eyes and a faint trace of a grin, but I'm not mad. I'm actually happy that I managed to get him so worked up before I changed my mind, and oh am I glad I decidedto do this.

"It's okay," I draw him close so we're pressed against each other, wanting these last moments to feel extra personal.

"Can I go a little faster?" he asks tentatively in my ear.

_We aren't going fast enough? _Is my first thought.  
"Yes," is my answer.

And abruptly our regular motion has drastically changed, _improved. _He was barely using any of the force he had; he bucks his hips into me to push me up, and then drives my arse down with his hands.

He fills me up so wonderfully, causing us to rock the chair, feels like we're rocking the room_.  
_I attempt to match his pace to find (too late) that this was the speed we needed to go the whole time. Because I can feel my release building up so quickly, I can`t stop the gasps and moans coming. I can't stop the incoherent phrases slipping from my lips.

"_Draco_, _fuck – yes. Yes, yes – oh, god, yes, yes – "_

And then he's scrambling to get me off him, forcing me upwards with him, his erection still pin straight, semen shooting just under my breasts because he's solid against me. He picks me up again, kissing me frantically and laying me back on the desk to get up beside me, licking a finger and then wasting no time in rubbing me fast, my swollen clit ready to burst.

"You – " he murmurs in between pecks, "are so sexy_._ And I – god, I had no idea how much verbal cues set me off. And you need _your_ turn to get off."

I can barely contain myself. I'm wriggling my legs, and clawing at his shoulder with my hands, screaming into his neck. But he's relentless until I collapse from orgasm, and I do, feeling like I've just run a marathon.

Now we're both exhaling from exhaustion, sitting up because the wood is not very cosy. He wraps his arm round me, and rests his forehead against mine.

"That was fantastic. Number one moment in the Draco history books," he sighs, making me shake my head. "And I'm serious, Miss Skeptical. I can't fucking believe you'd – do you know how hot it is that you blew me and then _rode _me? Much better than missionary."

My revelation removes itself from the back of my skull to the front, from my emotional mind to the rational one.  
I'd temporarily forgotten about it lost in that moment.

"Draco, I think I love you."

I let it hang in the air, those words that I realize are true now they've been said.  
And he doesn't move away from me, he holds me tighter.

"Funny, Granger, usually that's what somebody says _before _having sex, not after it."

I feel myself smiling. His tone was not sad, not somber.  
"And?"

"And nothing. I'm pretty sure I _know_ I love you."

* * *

**Hey guys, sorry for the delay, HUGE storms in my area unfortunately, lots of power loss.**  
**I hope you enjoyed it, I'm rubbish at sex scenes ;) and I wanted it to be kind of a surprise, not a very obvious lead to what was about to happen, usually like what happens in the real world. Love you xo**


	47. Just the Beginning

**Author's Note****; If the next update is slow, it's because I am actually going back and editing the first chapters I wrote for this fic and rewriting them to be in first person to match the rest of the story, which is extremely tedious. I have 5 chapters to go, so forgive me xo**

**_To make a mountain of your life is just a choice.  
But I never learned enough to listen to the voice that told me;  
Always love,  
Hate will get you every time.  
Always love, don't wait til the finish line._**

- **_Always Love_****, Nada Surf**

* * *

There are no words to explain the unparalleled joy I have this moment.  
And holding her hand, dually blushing with our secret smiles, I guess I don't even need to.

Everything that's just happened was unexpected and totally fantastic, I'm still left with the hazy feeling that this isn't real life. This experience is almost like an alternate universe, in what scenario would I have ever fucked Hermione Granger? Would I have loved her, and have her love me too?

Because I do. And I said 'pretty sure', pretty sure that I _know _it. But it's not 'pretty', it's a certainty, I'm simply too scared when she only thinks she does.

"So how are you feeling?" I ask, distracting myself from vain thoughts.

"I feel good, a little strange, you?"  
She's still flushed, her hair a complete mess from me playing with it so much, grinning like an idiot to my delight.

"Oh, obviously I'm resplendent. I meant, are you in pain at all?" She scrunches her face a bit and shakes her head. "Sorry, just thought it'd be the right thing to ask."

"I know… Who uses resplendent in actual conversation?" she teases.

"Clearly I do."

"A Malfoy must always be sophisticated? I am a little sore, but that's to be expected. Actually, the fact that you made me very aroused, very wet beforehand, helped a lot."

"Yes, I must. And that's good to hear. I, er, made that mistake before."

"Oh?" she says, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Yes, please do not make me go into detail."

"I won't, don't want to hear it either," she bumps into me, causing me to smirk.

"I noticed you didn't ask me to use any charms beforehand," I note quietly.  
As we were getting our clothes back on, she requested me to perform the birth control spell on her, but not the infection one which must be used _before_ we get intimate.

"The thought crossed my mind. But I told you I trust you," she stammers. "I knew you would tell me to use it if I needed it…was I good at foreplay?"

She's very bad at steering conversations isn't she?

"You are right, I would've, but even if you trust me, we should talk about stuff like that. Even if it's embarrassing. It doesn`t kill the mood for me. Got to be responsible sex partners," I smirk.

"I know, I'm experiencing great guilt. Birth control is more immediately important to me, so I suppose the other felt more of a precaution. You must teach me the incantations at a later date. Now answer my question," she commands, stopping me in the hall to kiss me. "And be honest."

Sighing, I can't help but be amused at her question as much as I feel awkward responding to it.  
"Hermione, I told you, you sucked my dick and then rode me, err sorry," I apologize at her expression. "I try to keep my vulgarity at a minimum when you're around, sometimes I forget myself. Anyways, I was erotically surprised that you would've blew me before you'd really even _seen_ what I'm packing. It was great, honestly."

"Erotically…_surprised_?"

"Yes, erotically surprised," I taunt, liking how much she's piqued at my turns of phrase.

"And the technique?"

"This is so _weird, _my penis doesn't have its own passable course with a grade given at the end. In good conscious, _why should I critique you on the first blowjob you've given me_?" I whisper, unable to stop the pink rising to my cheeks.

She bites her lip in an effort to stifle laughter.  
"Draco, I only want to know some tips so I can improve. Because I'd like to have a repeat experience, and soon," she implores me, raising an eyebrow seductively.

"_S-soon? _Merlin, Granger, don't tease me like that. Seriously, I don't care about your movements as long as you touch it. But since you will only pester me further, just try to be less, how shall I put it; methodical. I do enjoy a very indelicate switch from fast to slow in speed. Also, anytime you make noise is just, _ah, _I can't even describe how that gets me off," I reply with glee. "Lastly, maybe you will grow to hate blowjobs with a burning passion, but please pretend you're into it, not just doing it because I like it." I grab her waist gently and rest her against the stone wall, running my hand along her jaw and then pecking her on the lips.

"Duly noted," she responds, wrapping her arms around me. "I take pleasure in turning you on, so once I get the hang of it, I'm sure I'll like it more. And that means lots of practice."

"You're killing me here," I groan, pressing my raging semi against her leg.

"I know, I just wanted to let you know I did like the whole thing, it was much more passionate than I thought. But it was sort of an out of body experience, I couldn't believe it was happening, you know? Given that I chickened out first. And I knew you'd wait for me, obviously, but you didn't let me having to stop you faze you at all. It made me comfortable, and it made me able to relax and you know, enjoy the arousal." She stares at me, conveying her appreciation in those beautiful brown eyes. "So thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you're alright lovely, it only goes up from there," I grin, nibbling her ear to make her shiver. "Now, seeing as I gave you multiple hickeys and we only have twenty minutes til showtime…"

I take out my wand, pressing it softly against her neck and whisper _"Tollere cicatricem."_ The bruised purple skin fades back to her regular pale peach and she slaps her fingers to her neck.

"Wow, there really are spells for everything. This is an interesting topic for me to research. Spells to affect the physical body. And another enchantment you must show me," she giggles.

"Only you would be fascinated in the history of sex magic. And yes, it's a handy trick Pansy showed me, probably one of the only useful things redeemed from that relationship. And one I so required after going to that stupid club," I wiggle my eyebrows at her and she hits my arm playfully. "Oh come on, you gave me around 17, I counted."

"Well you loved it so shush. Maybe we should get a move on?"

"I suppose we must," she takes my hand to lead me down the spiral staircases to the second floor. I feel drunk and giddy by how sappy and embarrassing we're being, I'm barely nervous anymore.

"So I know we've had enough disconcerting conversation but, I've been thinking about that question Verity bombarded you with at George's house and I find myself really wanting an answer."

"The one about if Pansy and I shagged a lot?" I ask a little morosely. Please no.

"Yes," she confirms delicately, looking straight ahead. "I'm not going to be mad at you, I've always found your bond with Pansy sort of an enigma."

"No, I know. You don't strike me as the jealous type." At this she snorts. "Okay, perhaps you are _loyal, _and you will stick up for me. But you won't smack a bitch if they simply talk to me."

"I'd be kidding myself if I told you I didn't get envious, luckily I haven't had to deal with it much."

"I know, lucky for you I'm not a ladies man."

"Hm, Lavender said you were good looking. To gasps of disapproval, but still," she admits sheepishly.

"Oh how comforting. The most annoying girl at Hogwarts finds me attractive."

"Regardless," she cuts her hand across the air. "I think you're hot, that should be enough. You're not satisfying my curiosity."

"Excuse _me_ for not wanting to indulge you on my sexual history and relationship with the girl from school you most despise."  
She blinks wide-eyed at my tone and tries very hard not to smirk.  
"I mean, I _will _indulge you. But I'm not happy about it. You won't like it."

"Try me," she dares as we get off the last step. She walks to the music room, sliding the door open and ushering me inside. "And make it quick, we're only minutes from our deadline and the Great Hall is corridors away."

"I can't make it quick, Granger. I need to offer you my side of the story."

"An abridged version then?"

"Oh, hell, I can try." I clear my throat. "The thing you have to understand about us Slytherin kids is we get bored as all hell during summer. I rarely went on vacations with my parents, a lot of the adults just took turns throwing stupid parties, brunches and cocktail affairs. So essentially I saw Pansy almost every day. And combined with living in a dorm with her, and she coming over unannounced at least four times a week, I was very close to her in my own way. It was nice to feel as if someone liked me. Anyways, in case you didn't realize, or if I haven't elaborated it further to you, Pansy's mother was telling her to go for me basically since we were kids. And she already liked me so she played the game. All that attention, and I falsely mistook it for juvenile love. We 'dated' as only awkward thirteen year olds do. Wen to the Yule Ball, blah blah. I knew about my father and his nighttime activities by fifth year but somehow I was able to place it in the recesses of my mind. I got a little full of myself one-upping you lot all the time thanks to Umbridge. And Pansy is as nasty as I was, she_ loved_ it." I shake my head disbelievingly. God, I'm such a fucking arsehole. "There was this negative happiness we fiended for, there wasn't enough cruelty to feast on for us. Somehow being so _mean _made us so crazy for each other. I'd like to say she made the first moves, she was all over me, but the truth is that I wanted it as much as she let me have it."

Hermione emits this woeful, barely noticeable noise. She didn't want me to hear it; I don't comment on it, trying to have tact. But it hits me in the gut, that my past actions pain her.

"Truthfully, we did 'shag quite often'. To answer your question. We'd find ways here, before we always did it in my room."

"When did you start?" She ambles over to my piano, resting on the stool. I join her, intertwining our fingers again, I don't want to lose the connection.

"July, during the break before fifth year," I murmur. Looking back, that seems far too young, I was far too immature to fathom how important that kind of intimacy can be. "We were affected hard by hormones, at least I was. Summer became suddenly grim that year; my father was a criminal. A strange part of me felt he deserved it, but I was much too angry at Potter to see straight. This constant anchor in my life that was supposed to teach me self-respect was actually caught, _shamed. _I didn't know how to feel or _cope_. But I refused to let anyone else in and I continued this charade of having a teenage relationship with Pansy, never letting her in when I became more and more distant, when I received my fate. Eventually she just slowly drifted apart from me, I was never happy, never in a good mood."

The hand grasping mine squeezes for comfort, and it only makes this harder. My speech falters. I've told her what she wants, I don't know if I should continue.

"From what you told me, it seems like she still wanted you, given your reputation….surely she cared about you Draco?" Hermione says softly. "She didn't mean to abandon you."

"Of course not, I meant to abandon _her_. I'm at fault. I told you we, '_did _it', in the Slytherin girls dormitory. It was spontaneous, but it didn't sit right with me afterwards. She saw it then, my mark. Didn't question me, which actually scared me more than made me feel relieved. I know she had no idea what I was up to, she didn't actually care that much about my affairs so much as she wanted my cock at that point. I realized after that incident that I actually meant something to her even if it was shallow, even if we couldn't comprehend the level or depth of it because we were too guarded. Because she didn't tell anyone about it, she didn't pester me. "

"You didn't love her, then?" She asks it without bite, but with genuine interest.

"I didn't."

"I just, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that you saw her every day, alone or not, and didn't have some sort of deep-routed affection for her. You appreciated her, at least?"

I feel a grin fall to my face. "Funny, when I went on my quest to the Parkinson's with my mother, that's what I told her. I did, as I've said, she was truly the only friend I've ever had. Blaise thought he was too good for me to want to level with me, she tried to open up. She tried to be my girlfriend. But you have to realize, that she followed a plan set out for her by her parents, like me, and hasn't yet given it up. She's still petty and far too conniving. If she really loved_ me_, she wouldn't have told her mother what I said, wouldn't have let her follow us for revenge's sake."

"That's true Draco, but I've been known to do crazier things out of anger," she maintains. "I was obviously distant from Ron when he was with Lavender. So livid. I flaunted Viktor in front of him, went out with _Cormac _because Ron couldn't stand him_._ I used someone who I'd earlier in that year _confunded _so Ron would make it on the Quidditch team."

"What!?" I'm completely shocked. "_You _did that? _Why?"  
Weasel not good enough?_ I think with great relish.

"I made sure Cormac missed a goal so Ron could save all of them. I knew he could do it, and he needed some kind of hope in the matter…"

"But _you, _cheating? Tsk, tsk."

"I've done far worse things," she replies, forcing her voice to be indifferent.

"Like?" I prompt, wherein she sighs.

"You know Marietta Edgecombe? Her acne?"

I grimace and nod, recalling the gross red pustules on her face.

"That was my doing. She snitched on us about the DA, Dumbledore's Army, and that was the punishment. As far as I know she hasn't fully remedied it yet."

Though I should be frightened at her immense skill I can't help but feel vitally impressed.

"Hmm, you know I'm starting to see why we're able to get along. You have one twisted mind, Granger."

She rolls her eyes at me and pushes me lightly, standing up to have at her violin, gesturing to my wand and then instrument to shrink it.

"Perhaps. I wasn't trying to convey you my darker side, I guess in my heart I just want to believe that that relationship mattered to you. And to her."

"It did…." I assure her, confused. "But why do you want that?"

"Well," she begins, looking down at the floor, slowly walking out of the room. I grab my piano and follow along. "It's just that…I don't like imagining you and Pansy, but if I do, I don't want it to have been a waste. Ron and I were short-lived and really, really stupid looking back on it."

She looks unsettled, walking at a quicker pace down to the hall.

"Hey, he still cares for you."

"On a _friendship_ level," and her attitude suggests that I say nothing further. "And that`s exactly what I meant. Even though he's cross with me, I love him. Even if we were idiots, we loved each other. It's not that I want you to necessarily love her or like her anymore, you can have your misgivings, but to know you lived a part of your life with somebody and didn't act the same way around her that you do me makes me feel _weird_. That you were so intimate, so close and are so….flippant about it now. It's almost as if you don't even care, miss her at all. Your friend. Don't you savour the memories, even the ones where you were being less than amicable? Because you just said you loved being a little nuisance, got off on it."

"Hermione – "I start and then falter, unable to muster up the strength to try and commence the long explanation I need to give her. "Look, I will tell you all about this soon, but right now we need to go inside," I point to our destination, we've just arrived.

"Alright. I'm sorry if I seem intrusive, I just find you fascinating. The way you think, the way you are."

"Fascinating? Not fucked up, surely?" I laugh, seizing her into my arms to kiss her head. "I find you endlessly enthralling too. One of these days can we actually stop focusing on my idiocy and can talk about your life?"

"Promise," she winks. "And PS, I think I'm going to keep a list of all your colloquialisms."

"Colloquialisms?"

"'Endlessly enthralling' , 'erotically surprised'….you really are some kind of cliché hero from a romance novel."

"Great, that was my big goal in life," I reply dryly and she giggles.

Stepping inside the hall, it is once again transformed to an auditorium of chairs facing the raised platform. The lights are dim, and excited chatter fills the room. It actually seems like most of the students are present. Only fifth years and up are performing, McGonagall surely wanted the 'more mature' pupils to set the example for the school board.

And I can see those pretentious fuckers.  
Wilhelm Adler would come over to my house every few months, a fellow trustee, and I had the pleasure of hearing the most boring man on the planet. I can see his handlebar moustache from here, monocle firmly placed on his eye. He's sitting next to Amelia Bond, a 50-something woman who's eaten too many pumpkin pasties in her lifetime, who is then next to some elderly trustee who I recognize but cannot name.

McGonagall nods at us as we walk past them to sit in the front row, one of the only spots left that isn't the very back. She's now very calm on the exterior, chitchatting politely to them along with Flitwick.  
You can see everyone behind their view wondering who they are, pointing and whispering. It's now that I remember if we don't perform well as a collective, this class may be cancelled. And while I don't particularly care because I'm graduating, it'll certainly reflect on our marks, and McGonagall does not want to have this kind of failure on her.

"_Nervous_?" I ask quietly once we're seated, and I can tell just by a glance that they've returned with a bite.

"_Yes," _she gulps, her hands and legs swinging and trembling again.

"We'll be fine, remember that everyone else is feeling the same way…except maybe Ernie," I add, glancing at him with Susan Bones, talking animatedly no doubt about his immense skill. "'_I _for one, think that we'll be the best in the bunch Susan, definitely _the best,'" _I drawl in my best imitation.

She starts snickering, very strained, covering her mouth.  
"'Our practice was _flawless, _simply flawless. I hit all those notes amazingly. Oh, you were pretty good too,'" I continue, and she buries her face in her hands, shaking with laughter.

Suddenly I hear the clearing of a throat; McGonagall is raising an eyebrow at us sternly before walking up the steps to the podium.

She starts yammering about how the procedure is going, that the fifth years will go first, and that she will call us up one by one, already has the order. Presents the governors, tells them they're merely here to observe, but Hermione and I know otherwise. We glance at each other for a second, and I know we're hoping that she takes this into account.

We clap along at their introduction and then it begins; the first kids to perform.

But I don't pay attention still, I can't focus on anything but the lovely person beside me, watching her reactions to the performances, both great and terrible, and the way the emotion in her face flows is so genuine and persistent. She makes small comments, '_So _good', but never anything negative.

How she claps with vigour and sincerity, even to the worst of the worst, when it's obvious she's feeling the pressure mount; I can't wrap my head round this.  
I simply can't comprehend how she can be so good natured all of the time, the glass is always half full, and even when she's upset she lets out her sadness and then fixes her shit.

I guess you can say I'm amazed by her.

And luckily for me, an hour passes quickly. Time is very odd that way.  
Barely caring about the students' lives on the line, I thought I'd be struggling to get by this exercise, but now it's time for the seventh years. I'm trying to get myself back to where I was this afternoon, where I was thinking I'm hot shit. But it's not working, because I feel seriously intimidated by Hermione beside me, who doesn't have to fake it to make it. Why can't I just shake that off and accept I'm worried I'll fail not only myself but my girlfriend? Why can't I be like her?

"Our opening performance by our eldest group of students will be by Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy."

Disenchanting clap are made, murmurs are replaced where applause should be and I should have prepared myself. Paid more attention, because thinking back, the best pair went first, and maybe that's a little selfish to say, but I'm great and she's greater, nobody with taste can falsely accuse us this in any way.

But she's grabbing my hand, and she is determined, doesn't care, that her best friends aren't happy, that she's standing here alone. Except she has me, some fucking prize, and I refuse to let her down. So I bite my tongue, suck my lips into my lungs and let her tell the condemning audience we're playing Muse. And the glares I get, the unadulterated hatred burning in people's eyes starts to have an influence on me. I regret wearing these stupid trousers, I regret ever thinking that things will ever change.

I can see old Dean's face, mangled and bitter, probably a fan of the band we picked. And I look to the right of him with Potter and Weasley. It's here, at the worst possible moment, I clue in that Hermione has this ridiculous effect on people of attracting them into her very appealing personality. And I've been trying to shake this feeling that I don't deserve her, but if we were going to sit down and decide who is settling here, it's a hundred percent her. She's losing lifelong friends over me, and somehow that's not a deal breaker. She is just starting to adore me, and I can only admit to myself that I'm so hopelessly enamoured with her that if she left I would be broken into pieces. And I wouldn't know how to pick them up.  
She's seen me naked, both literally and figuratively, and she's gone to Azkaban for me, she's fought for me, listened to me and _loved _me. I've never felt this way, have no idea how to gauge if this is normal or crazy, because holy shit has it ever been _crazy_, and it's distressing.

Fuck, just _stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it._

I dig my nails into my palms, grit my teeth, and set up my piano in front of a microphone, trying with all my might to forget about these stream of thoughts.

But the chant of 'You are Draco Malfoy, you are attractive, smart; you can do anything', rings horribly pathetic in my ears.

"_Are you okay?" _and her voice, barely audible, causes me to shiver and jump from my skin, her hand on my arm, rubbing it soothingly.

I nod, swallowing my undesirable words, giving a feeble smile.  
"_I love you,_ _Draco. If you're worried about me, I'll be fine. You're not going to disappoint me, okay?_ _Let's do this."_

She clears her throat, winking at me and going over to sit adjacent to me, so she's facing the audience, and I am sideways, my fingers on the keys in view.

But I feel jaded, less aware of my surroundings, the lines of faces and objects blurring.

"Whenever you're ready," McGonagall recites, dimming the lights over the crowd a bit with her wand, highlighting us. She retakes her seat and we take our positions. I count to 10 in my head.

Hitting the first note, I've escaped. My fingers cascading as delicately as possible, the melody so slow and gentle. And since we've memorized it, I don't need to watch the notes pass by on my charmed pages, I can view Hermione join in so smoothly, perfectly.

Her cheeks flush, but her eyes determined, her chest heaving in and out with steady breaths, and I can't tear my eyes away from the curves of her lips as we start to sing. And I can barely discern whether or not we're halfway along or we're at the end as the tempo builds, and I'm so unaware of our audience, because I don't care if they're laughing at my voice anymore, I don't care if they like this. It's the first time we've performed this and she isn't so rigid, so precise. Like her solo audition, when she sparked my interest first. She's fluid and beautiful, her hair swaying across her bare back as her head moves with the changing octaves in the lyrics.

I'm back in her bedroom, on her mattress lying next to her, listening to this for the first time and remembering that the words felt so real.

Then we're not singing, we're hitting the coda, our final resounding note, and she peeks at me; she's pleased. I observe for the first time the people out there and they look a bit surprised. I guess I would be too, our pairing is rather bizarre. McGonagall is giving her version of a smile, tight-lipped and a line.  
The trustees on the other hand, give no semblance of a reaction away, but begin to clap politely and a stream follows.

We clear the area of our stuff, and I'm in a daze as our headmaster calls the next pair; Finnegan and Finch-Fletchley. I spend the rest of the performances with my head spinning, brushing my finger along her knuckles, wanting badly to hold her right now, snog her, feeling spent and overwhelmed. All that effort and it's over, we're done.  
If we never were teamed up, this whole thing never would've happened. I almost want to run and hug McGonagall right now.

The only couple I pay attention to is Nott and Millicent when they perform some random piece, and it's sloppy, but I can tell there's no tension between them, they're fine. And I was wrong, they're not giving off a romantic vibe at all.  
"_They look content_," Hermione notes.

"_Yeah, they do."_

"_You look happy that they are_," she grins.

"_I am."_

She leans in and kisses me, and I can't resist, I wrap my arm round her.  
"_Do you think we did well, then? You're satisfied?" _I ask.

"_Yes, couldn't you tell? You were incredible. I actually have nothing to say." _My heart fills with joy._ "Are you satisfied?" _

_"Oh, fuck yeah. I couldn't stop watching you."_

_"Really?" _she blushes.

"_Mmhmm."_

"_It's all over now, isn't it? Isn't that strange? We're not partners anymore," _she says.

"_Feeling relief?"_

_"Kind of, I want a repeat experience though. Listening to music on my bed, we must do that again." I_t's so very odd how we end up on the same wavelength sometimes.

_"Summer time is going to be fantastic."  
_I gaze at her and she looks delighted.

_"Definitely."  
_I turn slightly, gathering my wits to try and wrap up what I was trying to communicate earlier.

_"You know, I really do love you. And that feeling I get, in my chest, when I see you, is _so _different from when I was with Pansy. Which is why I could never act the same around her then when I do with you. And it's not that I don't appreciate her, didn't care, but we were immature, we weren't healthy. And I know in my heart that none of this is fake, it's not forced or being pressured. It's just there. And it makes me feel so good, I can't even put it into words."_

She doesn't respond, but her face says it all.  
She loves me.  
And I _fucking _love her.

* * *

I'm lying down, unable to sleep, rehashing the day's events.  
I can't wrap my head around Draco's speech, our actions. I'm no longer a virgin, I've fallen so deep for somebody who deserves it.

More importantly, I think we nailed our performance.  
I rarely can say I did a good job without results, but we didn't make any mistakes. And Draco sounded _great, _he actually took my advice. I have no idea if I was flat on the verses, but I just threw myself into it, I was so elated. This relationship keeps getting better by the day, I guess that's why the past few weeks have been tolerable.

"Hermione?"  
Ginny creaks open the dormitory door and walks over to me, sitting on the bed.

"Hey Ginny. I'm sorry I didn't see you at all before or after the show, I thought you did really well."

"Thanks, you and Draco were…well, your performance was passionate," she raises her eyebrows up high. "Did you find your paper?"

"How did you know I lost one?" I sit up against the headboard.

"Draco told me, I saw him sprinting down the hall to the library and figured it had something to do with you."  
I smirk at that image, truly appreciating how well he can deal with me.

"No, I didn't find it." I sort of let it go to the back of my mind given the day's events.

"Why are you not freaking out then?" she narrows her eyes at me. "Something happened, didn't it?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Hermione, I don't really know how to say this eloquently, but you and Malfoy were like, _making love _on that stage. He was staring at you the entire time with obvious desire, like, mingled with adoration. It was kind of sweet, but strange to watch. And you….you were in seventh heaven I think."  
I heat up, no doubt I'm scarlet by this point._  
_

"Ginny, I'm going to tell you something, please don't judge me."

"Oh my god!" her jaw drops. "You _banged him!"  
_She points a finger at me, and then claps. I guess I'm too pathetically happy to hide this kind of thing.

"I did…"  
I explain to her what happened yesterday, what led up to the sex, and how I'm feeling now. I try to withdraw great detail about our actual encounter, but tell her about my hesitation and his patience. By the end, she is watching me with contemplation in her pretty green eyes.

"You really do love him, don't you?"

"I do…it's something strange. It's something I'm certain is true without much effort. You know?"

"Yeah, I do." She squeezes my hand. "You know, I can't tell you how to live, I want you to be careful obviously, and I still have my reservations. But I believe him. After seeing the way he is around you, it's not the same as I remember."

"I wish Harry and Ron noticed," I sigh.

"They do, they just can't get over it. I saw the uncomfortable squirm in Ron's seat, he can tell how much Malfoy cares and it's hard for him. And Harry hates his guts, but he can't deny that you guys have a chemistry that is hard to find."

"Is there any hope yet?"

"Oh yes, they love you too. They'll come round eventually."

"Funny, that's what I told Draco about them."

"Well, they will. Now, give me _all _the dirt, come on, I want to know, don't be shy. I tell you all about my love life. So you hesitated, who cares? I can't fathom the idea that you did it in the _library! _That is _wild! _Did he make you come? Did it _hurt?"_

I shake my head at her lack of discretion but decide to spill, I've been spending all my time with Draco and haven't had quality time with any friends.

"Alright, but I'm going to stop if you make any gross faces."

"Don't worry, I won't, I can help you out, I'm sure he loved it no matter what you did" she chuckles. "Now go, before Lavender comes up and noses in."

She jumps up to bounce the bed and lies back against my pillow, pulling me with her.  
This day cannot get any more unreal, but it's been so damn perfect.


	48. Can't See The Forest for the Trees

**_Well take me, take me back to your bed, I love you so much that it hurts my head.  
Say I don't mind you under my skin; I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in.  
When we were made we were set apart, life is a test and I get bad marks.  
Now some saint got the job of writing down my sins.  
The storm is coming, the storm is coming in._**

_**You're brought back but you're running, I'll find sleep in the end tonight.**_  
_**I can't shake this little feeling I'll never get anything right.**_  
_**- Degausser**__**, **_**Brand New**

* * *

"I feel a little bad, Draco. Maybe we should have gone. What are we even doing?"  
She may feel a little bad, but she's giggling like a naughty school girl.

"Not telling, love."

I'm dragging Hermione by the hand up the stairs, a small surprise I've planned. Presently there is a Quidditch match going on between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but I can't be fussed. And I know she can't be fussed either, so I convinced her to come along with this ruse. The school is empty, we have access to everything.

"It just feels like we're breaking some kind of unofficial school rule. Quidditch participation is _law," _she jokes. "Ginny was shocked when I told her I was skiving."

"Yeah well, if I don't get to participate, I've lost all interest, haven't I?" I say, making her shake her head. "It's not like your house is on the line. Though I'd probably try, I wouldn't make you miss a Gryffindor match."

"At least you're honest," she laughs. "Now seriously, where are we going? We don't have to be in a stand, but we could at least be outside enjoying the unusually bright sunshine."  
She points to the glass window we're passing, the rays filtering through to our eyes.

"We could, but I want to be alone with you. Outside is not secluded enough, and the library too dangerous," I wiggle my eyebrows. "Besides, I don't much imagine that the reaction of Potter will be good once Ginny tells him where you are. Don't want him to attack me."

"He's not going to _attack _you," she groans. "Okay well...Maybe _Ron_ will….just don't remind me. And _alone? _Have something up your sleeve, do you? Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!"

I ignore the pleas and her yanking my sleeve as we get to the last step, marching down the corridor to the end, turning the corner to a seemingly empty wall. Only I know better.  
"The fifth floor?" she asks with intrigue.

I rifle through my trouser pocket and clutch the item I'm looking for.  
"Your Prefect's badge?" her eyes suddenly alight and I smirk. "That kind of privacy? But the bathroom is at the beginning of the hall."

"My dear Hermione, I am, by unfortunate default, Head Boy. Nott declined the offer and I was hauled into Slughorn's office last week and yelled at because I haven't been doing my job. Which only served to remind me that I had access to this particular area of the castle. This is the Slytherin-only bathroom, something little known to the rest of the students because our house likes to keep it in the family. I don't fancy going into the same lavatory that Weasley or Potter abused being prefect and Quidditch captain."

I find the groove in the stone wall that is sunken in, and place the badge so it perfectly fits, pressing it in. Hermione is apparently mesmerized by this information, now intently watching what's going to happen next.

"Password?"  
A sultry voice booms from nowhere, causing her to jump and grab my shoulder.

"Slytherin's are Supreme," I declare happily, while my lady rolls her eyes.

The wall, much like my common room, dissolves, dropping my badge to the floor. I pick it up, wink at Hermione and beckon her inside.

Immediately I am warmed to the place; never been in here before now.  
A large stone fireplace is positioned at one wall, a cream square rug positioned in front of it. Fluffy green towels lie in one crook, toiletries in the other. The room is dim. A shiny black, the floor and walls are carved out of obsidian that reflects our entering bodies with the light given in by candles resting on ledges in the curves of the ceiling. The basin that is the giant bath is circular, made of a pretty jade. The multiple taps lining the bath have snakes engraved onto the valves.

"This reminds me a lot of what I'd imagine your bedroom to be like," is Granger's first comment, looking round the space, seemingly impressed. "From what I saw in the pensieve."

"I suppose it resembles it," I reply, laughing. "I can't believe I even sunk to the level of using the common plebeians bathhouses. This is fantastic."

I shake off my shoes and kick them near the door, which has now become solidified again.

"Yes, I must admit it is, quite dark though, isn't it? No windows."

"I prefer romantic; low lights, nice and secluded?" I attempt, walking over to her and kissing her on the lips. "Question though, before I try to seduce you."

She snorts, rather _impolitely_ if you ask me_, _and says; "_Yes_?"

"How come _you_ aren't Head Girl? Surely you of all people deserve it."  
I contemplate her expression, her hands crossed, looking shyly at the ground, shuffling.

"I turned it down. McGonagall sent me a letter before school asking me if I want to do it, she was going to give it to me no question," she flushes. She's quite adorable when she wants to be modest. "But I just said no, thank you. I suppose a part of me wanted to focus on school, enjoy my last year without too much responsibility, the stress for OWLs was enough to kill me, and I was still recovering from last year. NEWTs are going to be a hundred times worse, I'm sure."

"Do you regret it then? Cause let me tell you, you can have my responsibilities. Apparently McGonagall suggested giving it to Nott or I because it would enable us to do better in school, to try harder. I doubt any authority I cast out would do a damn thing though, would it?" I slump onto the rug, patting the spot next to me so she can be close to me.

"I do regret it a little," she admits, sitting. I lie down and pull her onto me so her head rests on my chest, snaking my arm under her shoulders. "But I hope it won't affect my future in the long run."

I caress her arm soothingly, seriously holding back a laugh at this point.  
"Honestly woman, the Ministry will take you in a snap. They'd be mad not to. And if you want to do the Muggle thing your grades are more than enough, yeah?"

"I suppose you're right," she mumbles, planting a peck along my jaw. "I know this is a heavy question but, would you be upset if I decided to go to university in London? Or elsewhere? I haven't yet decided what I want to do. Magic is a huge part of my life now, but I've always wanted to go to school, I don't know if I'd be ready just to jump into an internship or training here."  
She's so silly, honestly.  
She's implying we'll still be together by then, that makes me happy enough in itself.

"You don't even have to ask, Hermione. God, do what you want to do. Even if I said no that wouldn't stop you, yeah? I think it's great that you are so driven, despite what I may say. You aren't meant to stay in a small space like this. I don't have high hopes for myself, but I do for you." I feel her squeezing me tightly, and that butterfly feeling is back again in my stomach.

"I'm glad… you could do well if you tried, you know? You're very smart."

"I guess I just can't be bothered," I reply, still uncomfortable to her praises of me. I know I'm intelligent, but coming from her, I don't suppose I deserve it.

"Well be bothered. What do you want to do after graduation anyways?"

I exhale, finding it difficult to tell her this.  
"You know, at the start of this year I came back because I wanted to get a job, prove to myself and everyone else that I'm not completely useless. I wanted to do it to escape too. All last year I was numb, unable to justify my actions to myself because of what happened, and the year before I was trapped with fear. I was really pathetic and I did things I'll always regret. After this last month with you, I have come to understand I've never felt any sort of real freedom. That I am so ridiculously ignorant about everything. And getting a job would only distract me, it won't resolve any of my emotions, or make me happy."

"So you don't know then?" she asks, her voice soft. I lean over to see her face, and it's forlorn.

"Oh, don't be sad for me," I tell her, nudging her until she gives a wan smile. "Remember, no more playing victim. Deserve everything I got handed to me, I have. And I think I _do _know. I want to travel. I have the means to do it, I need to get out of the pureblood bubble I've been living in. I was genuinely _scared _about visiting your home. And that was just ridiculous. More than anything I'd like to see what I've been missing, segregated France isn't good enough."

"And where would you want to go?"

I shrug, playing with the hem of my shirt, not wanting to sound unorganized and too idealistic. "Everywhere. Eastern Europe, the rest of the UK. New Zealand maybe, Japan while I'm already that far."

"Sounds very adventurous," she replies, a twinkle in her eye. "I'd love to do that."

"Well do it."

She laughs incredulously. "Like I could. I doubt my dad would like the idea of me going off to the other side of the country, let alone planet. Even if I took a year off, I'd never be able to ask my parents for the money. And I don't want to work a menial job for months just to go. Even if Floo cuts my travel costs…I couldn't."

"Come with _me_ then."  
I say it simply, playing with her fingers. You know, all non-chalant, like it shouldn't be a big deal. When it definitely is.  
It's monstrous.  
Finding someone who can tolerate me for more than an hour is difficult enough, but for weeks on end?

I could do it. With her, I could do anything.

"Come _with_ you?"

"Better than going alone."

"You want to travel the world, Draco. That's a lot of time, a lot of time alone. I do love you, but….you know."  
And I do know.  
What she means, of course. I'm not a Potter or a Weasley. It's a big commitment.

"You could always just come to one spot. Or just wait until after you finish your degree." She smacks me lightly on the stomach. "You know I find it rather rude that you keep hitting me all the time."

"You're not upset I shot your idea down? Just 'after my degree'?"

"Yeah. You don't have to go everywhere, we could go on holiday." Her expression doesn't waiver. "What? Graduation is in 6 months. That means we'll have been together for nearly 8. That isn't so farfetched is it?"

She nestles in close.  
"I suppose it's not. Now, what was that about you seducing me?"

"Eager are we?"

"Maybe."  
She rolls herself onto me, straddling my waist and sitting up. Pretty much causing me to have an instant flare up in my nether regions.

"You should really be thankful I'm alright at having restraint. It's been two weeks since we banged. Been absolutely dying," I chuckle as she kisses my lips.

"Have you? I suppose I've been caught up in school a lot, I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry. I think my grades have improved drastically since spending time with you, actually. And I did promise you that I'd help you recover your notes." We never _did _find that lost essay, but I'll be grateful we didn't for the rest of my life.

She flushes and I grin cheekily wide.  
"Don't be silly, you already did well."

"Yeah, but it's nice to have somebody proofread my work, never let anybody else do it."

"Should I feel honoured?" She sticks her tongue out insolently between her teeth, trying not to snicker.

"Of course you should," I reply, bucking my hips up and startling her so she falls into me. Grabbing hold of her neck and face I then whisper, "_Not as thrilled as I'll ever be that I get to do all these things with you."_

Her face glows in the scarce light; she grants me a small, sultry grin. Leaning down and clutching my hair she snogs me tenderly. I continue the rhythm, grabbing fistfuls of hers and rubbing between her shoulder blades, the place she likes most.  
"_What are all 'these things' you mean?" _she murmurs in my ear, dragging my hand from her back to underneath her delightfully warm chest, down below her skirt. "_Is this one of those things?"_

I feel my stomach tighten, her confidence turning me on more than anything.  
I push my fingers past her panties, immediately catching my breath as she groans from the contact, and I raring to go at how wet she already is.

"_It's everything_," I say, while she drops her mouth ever so slightly open at the slow tortuous movement of my fingers. I stroke her, barely touching the sensitive spot, making her wiggle her hips against me to get closer.

I push her off and lay her beside me, discarding my robes, unfastening hers. I throw them away while she unbuttons my shirt and I hers, both of us desperate to feel the heat of each other's skin.  
_"And not just the sex bits, even though I must admit I'm having a hard time coming up with something that's better at the moment," _I continue, tracing an outline around her erect nipples over her bra, and downward to the bones above where she wants me to be.

But she doesn't like my teasing; she yanks my tie forwards, still round my throat, and crushes me with her mouth. My cock now pulsing, my mind crazy with how brazen she's become. A vast difference from the last time we were alone in secret.  
I force myself away and lift myself up, tugging at her skirt to pull it off her legs completely, along with her underwear. I regard her beautiful body, her chest rising and falling from her panting in anticipation.  
"Do you want to get right to it then?" she speaks, so softly, looking up and down from my eyes to my pants.

"No I don't," I utter. Gently I trail pecks on her chin, journeying over her collarbones, through the middle of her beautiful breasts and all the way down her stomach.

When I reach way down low I hear her sharp inhalation, taking great relish in her reaction when I grasp her thighs and spread them open. I can feel her tense, apprehensive at how intimate this is, perhaps. How new it is; wondering how my tongue will feel.  
"_Relax."_

She sighs, sending a shiver down my spine, and I take my first lick, tasting her.  
To find that she's somehow so sweet and warm.  
I feel her loosen up as I dart my tongue over her clit, then lap at it teasingly slow. She releases a loud whimper, and I dig my nails tighter on the grip I have of her arse. Using her legs, she pulls me closer, wrapping them around my neck. Then clawing at my head, nearly pulling out my hair. So fucking turned on by this point, I'm almost delirious.

"_Faster_, _please_," she begs, and my only reaction is to oblige, pressing my tongue down harder, pulling out all the stops, twisting and circling it in every which way to find out what she likes most. I can sense her calves shaking, her body responding exactly how I intended.  
A sudden recollection mists through my distracted brain. I place a finger at her entrance, pushing it in and out tentatively in time with my licks. Though I don't dare tell her, Pansy told me this sensation is almost as good as sex itself.  
And she was right, because it causes Hermione to become completely unrestrained. The combination of double pleasure too much to handle. But her enjoyment is only a fuel, and I give her everything I have, I'm so ridiculously aroused, never wanting this to end.

She's repeating her 'uh's and 'ah's, and I'm so damn hard I'm going to burn a hole in the ground. She flails as I keep a firm hold on her lower half, almost screaming now. She's so loud.  
"_I'm going to – I – god -"_

I look up at her exclamation, out of breath, about to continue when she catches my eye. Her expression is one of a woman undone, full of carnal longing, and now I _do_ want to stop, selfishness washing over me.  
"_Please can I fuck you?"_ I plead.

She looks distraught for a moment, painfully close to release. But she nods, about to get up. I unbuckle my pants, pressing her down. I abandon my boxers, position myself to get ready and use the tried and true method.  
"_No, no. You're all mine; my turn to be on top."_

She says nothing, just breathes in expectation while raising her legs up to my hips. I glide her body over the carpet to me, grabbing her waist to slide myself into her. Her throat catches, and she grasps my forearms as I ease my way in. Desiring to be nearer to her, I lower myself down so I can stroke her cheeks with my thumbs and snog her, the sensation just as great as the last time we were intertwined.  
"_You okay?" _I whisper.

"_Yes, god, yes." _she breathes blissfully. "_Go faster_, _like last time."_

I'm surprised I don't come right then. Placing my palms beside her, I thrust out, and then in again much quicker than the initial. She covers her mouth, widening in ecstasy, a little mewl escaping: I can't fucking stand it. I feel myself lose any sanity I had as she snakes her legs over my back like ivy, wrapping them around me fully.  
I start to drill her with as much force as I can muster. Just to see her face, just to watch her eyelids wilt, as if she's drank too much, and then reopen when I hit a spot she likes. To watch her lips quiver with the sensation, and listen to every little gasp, and every little incoherent word she speaks.

And then a glorious thing happens, where she unravels her body from mine, and plants her feet on the carpet. I am a bit disappointed until she decides she'll use all her might to push back into me, while I'm plunging into her, so deep now I want to scream. The intensity of each thrust increasing. I'm holding her head, she's grasping my waist.

But our tempo is stilted now because she's trying so hard. I want to take the lead; I'm greedy and I want the credit.  
Hermione keeps on chanting, "_Harder, Draco. Faster," _and I whisper back that I will, but she has to stop interrupting my thrusts, because my weight is too much for hers.  
She glances at my expression, momentarily affronted, until my obvious lust is noticed; her eyes loll to the back of her head. I can feel all of her melting onto the ground, her command now compliant. Now I have the power; I can do anything.

I'm starting to feel like an animal, rabid and wild. I'm definitely growling with need, or some noisy equivalent. I've pushed her backwards so I can suck on her tits, bite her neck, slam myself into her. Gripping her hips, hard, I'm _fucking _her; I'm not making love to her.  
And she lets me do it.  
She wants it.  
I'm drowning, feeling so near to orgasm, hoping she's still near too. And her arms are raised high above her head lying where he hair cascades onto the rug, her face still, too turned on to function. In absolute bliss, I'm wishing. Her legs are resting beside my hips now, and I've decided to lean back on my knees, spread out, to let her breathe, pulling her upwards into me and pushing myself out. Her back arcs, pleasing me with a full view of her dazzling, sexy form.

Suddenly, her legs tense, her hands slide down to snatch the carpet and she emits the most arousing cries, deep from her throat. She can't turn it off. I go as hard as I can once more, sweating, and wanting, and needing this. So badly.  
All at once she gives a final yelp, her body shaking and then drooping. When I know she's finished, I find my will to try and make it last dissolve completely. My cock tightens at its peak, my heart pumping into overdrive, and I'm cumming inside of her.

She moans at the feeling, trailing her hands to mine as I collapse on her. I pull out of her slowly, spent and so content.

"_Feel good?" _I ask, rasping for air, swiftly becoming exhausted. She tugs me beside her so she can regulate her heartbeat.

"_Mmm," _she responds, rolling over to cover me with her arms.

"_Tired_?" I chuckle, and I can see her faintly smile, poking me in the chest.

"I'm kind of cold actually. You'd think I'd be really warm…..we should've lit the fire, made the experience really cliché," she giggles, huddling closer to me.

"Yeah, would've added to my romantic persona you've been crafting for me. We could always redress, not that I really would like to or anything," I tease, ghosting her hard nipples with the back of my fingers. She shivers and pushes my arm away.

"We could take a bath," she then suggests tentatively, glancing over at the tub mere inches from our toes.

"A bath? Feeling a bit _dirty?" _She rolls her eyes.

"No, but it would be nice. The night after we went out was the first time I'd had a bath in months."

"I'm not exactly that partial to them after what happened, but hey, you're here to save me again in case I fall asleep." She stares at me with furrowed eyebrows and then stands up.

Damn, I meant it as a joke.

I watch the way her hips sway as she wanders over to the bath's edge, hopping down to splay her legs over into the empty basin. Immediately, I long to touch her again so I roll over, grab my wand from beside me and join her. Swishing it lazily, the taps begin to pour hot steamy water, bubbles added from the two outside faucets.

Sitting behind her, I wrap my arms round her middle and press other things into her, placing the tip of my wand to her belly and incanting the contraception spell. She looks at me shyly and utters a thanks.

We're silenced as the dripping sound fills our ears, yet it's not comfortable. So I speak.  
"_Did you enjoy when I came inside of you_?" I whisper, discarding my wand to rub my thumbs along her knees and lean my head over her shoulder to see her lips move.

"_Yes," _she blushes, settling more into my frame, and then dipping her feet in. It fills up quite quickly.

"_Am I embarrassing you with sex-related inquiry?" _She nods. "_Well now you know how I felt a few weeks ago." _

She doesn't say anything, I expected her to chuckle. In unison we witness the rising level of the bubbles, and when it's nearly there she leaves me. Floating in, immersing herself completely under the surface and coming back up for air. She swims to the other side, sitting on the ledge.

"You okay_?" _ I ask with more concern.  
She's not talking and it's weird. I am less graceful of a diver than she is, feeling gawky as I plunge in to make my way to her. It's hot and comforting, but concern is calling me.

Somehow, she's more pretty when wet, I'm noticing as I slip up onto the stone. Her bushy hair now slick and straight so her face is framed. Eyes standing out, freckles soft, she glistens. Looking downwards, avoiding my gaze, she's biting her lip.

"Is it about what I said?" I question, anxiety filling me, constricting my stomach so I'm about to explode.

I brush stray hairs away from her cheeks, and grab them to force her to view me.

She swallows a lump in her throat.  
"Not about the sex questions…not about me saving you, really. I'm just wondering about that night. Why you had a nightmare about me at all. And why you showed me in the pensieve. I never wanted to ask you because I didn't want to remember it or trigger it for you either."  
Oh.

"_Oh_."  
I take a deep breath, unsure of myself; defenseless.  
"You don't have to say," she adds quietly, flickering her eyes up to me and then back to the water.

"_It's because I was thinking about you_," I admit, my voice now echoing as the bath has settled. "I was rejecting my feelings about finding you attractive. Still caught up in it when I went with Nott to get clean. My mind wouldn't clear up, and before I fell asleep, I was looking at my mark..."

I examine it as I break off, trailing my eyes reluctantly down. Droplets are running down my arm, and I'm loathing it even more than usual lately. Patiently, Hermione is watching me, and when she doesn't say anything, I try to find the will to continue.

"Right after the war ended last year...I had insomnia because of the nightmares. I never wanted to go to sleep. Before I decided to drink in excess, my mother bought me sleepless dream potions, but after using them constantly for a few months I grew a tolerance to them. I stopped. I didn't want to get addicted. Guess I got dependent on alcohol though, didn't I? The transition from prescription to whiskey was really rough. I kept having dreams that made me relive memories of myself making bad decisions, becoming my father as I said. And this time...I wasn't expecting the dreams. I wasn't prepared. I forced myself to ween of the drinking to return here, and they hadn't come back yet. So I saw that night when you were in the manor. Only, it was ten times worse because nobody saved you...Only, I decided to try and help pathetically," I finish nervously.

"And the pensieve?"

"I suppose I just wanted to explain to you that night better. Show you I do have remorse somewhere in my bones. I'm not very good at apologizing, or admitting I'm wrong. Unless it benefits me or gets people off my back."

"I think most people are like that," she comforts me, her fingers tangling mine.  
She shivers slightly, goose bumps forming on her arms. I lean into her, holding her bare body against mine, pondering why we always have such intense moments together alone.

From blissful to tearful in five minutes, from sex to thinking.

"_You aren't like that," _I murmur, head resting on hers.

"Oh, I am. I will never admit I'm wrong until proven to be," she replies breezily, making me smile.

"You're not often wrong though. And I mean, you wouldn't say sorry unless you felt it was deserved. Which is honest."

"True…I guess I find it strange you act like I'm so great, or perfect or something. Or if you don't, it comes off that way."

"_I just love you._" Her grip on mine tightens, my chest slowly deflating air into my heart, calming me down but filling me with something else. "Funny, you know, when I kissed you in your room I was having a wet dream about you. In case you also wondered about that. I'm sorry if that's disgusting, or whatever, but if that never happened I imagine I wouldn't have had the guts to come right out and tell you how I feel."

"A wet dream?" she repeats, her face twisting into mild amusement and embarrassment.

"Yes, you were sexy and bossy, wanted me to kiss you. It was surreal."

"Sounds like it," she laughs lightly. "I didn't notice if you were hard, actually, I was too flabbergasted by what happened."

"Great, I was hoping you didn't. I never wanted you to think I only wanted to be with you to bang …that would've been awful. I told myself initially it was just sexual attraction, but I was lying. You're too damn nice for your own good."

"Oh shush. You're not so bad underneath, and charming when you're not being an arse," she teases. "And anyways, I was distracted by your looks before I realized you were smart, so don't feel too bad."

"_Ouch,_ oh, I'm wounded," I reply, putting a hand to my forehead dramatically. "I feel terrible, how could you be so mean? I will never recover from this ang–"  
She pushes me into the water, startling me as my eardrums fill up and my hair gets soaked.

Resurfacing, I notice her little smirk, sitting innocently on the edge, legs crossed and fighting laughter.  
"You think you're too clever, eh? Think I like you enough not to retaliate?"

Before she has real time to react, I grab her by the legs and slide her in with me, a little shriek escaping her. She sinks momentarily and come up in front of me, both of us floating now, treading gently in the basin.

We're both grinning like idiots and she plants a swift kiss on my lips. I grab her waist under the surface, skin on skin submerged feeling so satisfying.  
"_In a better mood now_?" I whisper, leaning my forehead against hers. "You seemed very melancholy a second ago."

"_I'm fine. I just worry about you, sometimes_," she assures me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "I don't like the way you joke about serious things. I realize it's more to comfort me, but it doesn't. And I know we're trying not to throw you a pity party anymore, but the more you reveal about yourself, the more I just want to give you a hug and make you tea or something."  
My stomach strangles into knots, it was never my intention to make her waste time toiling over my emotions.

"Hm, well don't. I'll stop doing that if it bothers you, Hermione, it _was_ to mask it a bit. But you needn't fret so much about me, I'm okay. I've been a lot better being with you, being around people again. There are plenty of others who experienced similar things to me. You said you did too…you told me you had bad dreams…about what?" I ask, pulling her into me. I don't want to feel like i'm unique, I don't want to think i'm the only one who can't handle anything. "_If you want to say."_

"_Mostly about that night," _she mumbles, causing me to squeeze her harder. "They were pretty bad for a while...about everyone I love dying. I'd wake up in the middle of the night seeing Fred….seeing Tonks – Lupin –" she heaves a great sigh and her voice breaks. "Sometimes i'd have to check to see if Ron and Harry were still in their beds."  
Fuck.  
I regret asking her about this, we were moving past the gloomy atmosphere.

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry_," I exclaim panicky, quickly. But it's too late, and I feel her shake. Tears falling on my shoulder.

I move her backwards, so she can lean against something solid while I hold her as best I can.

"It was just how I was grieving," she explains, with a wobbly tone, trying to reassure me when it should be the other way. "We were just so sad, when we were meant to feel happy. It wasn't a satisfying end the way I'd always pictured it, because everyone always glorifies winning, don't they? In my mind we'd come out alive, and fine. And everything was 'fine', but it wasn't good. We were so broken, little pieces that – that would never have a whole picture again. I always wondered whether we'd be able to be normal again after that, I think we're doing okay."

"You are, Hermione. I didn't notice you were hurting still, you should've told me, I would've – we didn't have to focus on how slowly I'm healing," I spit out, wanting to cry at her bleeding words. "I'm sorry for pressing the matter, I just wanted some way to relate to you, to feel as if I'm not alone."

"I'm really alright, Draco. I haven't had a solid sit down to contemplate it in so long. It's just flooding back a bit now. Trust me. It still hurts, of course it does." She's speaking more evenly now, but I'm not fooled, her chest beating faster than normal. "I felt so guilty changing my parents memory, and being unable to keep it together when I know these deaths must have hit everyone else harder. Harry, Ron and Ginny, even George, managed to be strong enough to make Molly and Arthur begin to feel alright losing their son, and we a friend, brother. Harry saw Lupin with the Resurrection Stone so he was able to get some closure, Teddy has people who love him. I was happy eventually, realizing these things. That we would survive. The magnitude of the finality of everything set in, but it took a few hard weeks. A few good cries…" she admits, with a strangled chuckle.

I stroke her dripping back, trying to calm her. "_You seem so strong to me, I hadn't realized that you'd experience such pain still…but you care so much about everyone, obviously you would."_

_"Like you said, everyone is suffering_," she breathes.

"_Yes, but you have so much love to give, I don't think it's on the same level as 'everyone'. I know I was shocked when Crabbe died, but we never were attached in a way that would've made me want to lament about it, especially when he was turning so horrible right before my eyes."_ I confess, not having revealed that to anybody before. "_You know,_ _you can talk to me about anything. I'm going to keep it to myself, I won't judge you. Even if you cry halfway in or don't want to explain it. I think we say that every time we have a serious talk."_

"_Definitely do._ _God, I didn't want to turn this into a weep fest," _she sniffs, her body now steadier, wiping her eyes. "_And you have just as much love, you just never realized it until now."_

She leans back searching my eyes, giving me a watery grin.  
"We always end up so serious, don't we? Always up and down. A part of getting to know each other, I guess," she says, happier now, trying to clear the tension. "I do feel so close to you afterwards, and I did say I wanted endless talks with whoever I ended up with."

Fuck, I love this girl. We always think the same things, yet she's so optimistic.

"What?" she inquires at my silly smirk. "_What?"_

"Hermione... Merlin, this sounded better in my head. But, I wish you were an oasis that I could dive in so deep. Because I'd stay there forever, and I would never sleep. If I drowned, I'd feel so happy; you are what I want, what I need. And if I experienced you if only for one single moment, I'd consider myself so lucky. But it hasn't been a moment, it's been almost 2 months. And I love you, probably too much, that it does my head in. Everything you show me I feel so intensely, when you're happy, I'm elated, and when you're sad I want to cry. We always end up on the same wavelength though, and I just – god, I never want to let you go."

I only catch her expression momentarily before she attacks me with her whole self, snogging me fiercely, and pushing me against the stone, jumping up so she can reach me better. She spreads her legs open over my hips, and in the water I can clutch under her knees because she's weightless to pull her up to me.

"_I love you, Draco_," she tells me. "I don`t have a beautiful way of putting it, but the way you make me feel…"  
She grabs my hair, burning a hole through me with the look she gives me before kissing me again, splashing me as she grinds against me, and I'm helpless because I don't want her to move.  
_"You can take me from upset to being high spirited with a few sentences. And maybe it's because I've let out what I have kept in for so long, the way you have, but I know it's helping. I know we're healing."_

_"It's the same for me - fuck - Hermione," _I moan as she jolts her hips to adjust her position.

I'm growing harder by the second, so passionate we've become. Now she nips my neck, grabbing every inch of me, scratching my back, even grabbing my arse.  
She's rubbing herself on me, making me crazy: "_I need you, now," _I plead.

She glides down off me and rubs my cock from under the water, then commands me to sit on the edge again. I think she's about to join me but instead comes between my thighs, coyly staring at me with parted lips before she kitten licks my tip, sucking me quite quickly after the initial groan I release. Using her hands to pump my shaft along with her mouth, already I'm ready to come at the enthusiasm.

My grasp tightens on the rim of the tub, my breath shallow, thinking that I definitely am going to be sappy and vulnerable more often if this is the result.

"_Hermione, please let me fuck you."_

"_Lie back," _she whispers, her breath ghosting my soaked skin still, and I comply. I hear her emerging from the bubbles, and feel her drenching me with warm droplets before climbing over me and settling herself on me immediately. She's so tight from the bath, and as I push myself in, her mouth opens so wide in pleasure and slight discomfort. "_Go slow this time."_

So I do.  
Agonizingly slow, almost.

Our gazes are locked the entire time, her full weight is on me, and our hands fused together.  
We're making love this time.

{}

"You know, I think I have to thank Salazar more often for being a devious bastard."

Hermione giggles like she did when we entered the room leaving it, the wall closing back up, and us rushing back to the hallways, having spent far too much time in there.

Not that that's a complaint. After we had sex the second time, I wanted more. That fuck was almost 10 minutes, something I was afraid she couldn't handle but she did. Unfortunately she didn't get off, and since my desire was fueled by how fiery she was towards me, I had to make sure she was satisfied. I went down on her and finished the job, and then she reciprocated. And then we did it one more time for good measure.  
We're so drunk right with the euphoria of that aftermath we can't stop looking like we're hiding something from the rest of the world.

"How is he so devious?" she questions, holding my arm as we descend to the Gryffindor floor.

"We need just a password to get in instead of a passing a portrait. That means any number of people can go in, can't they? Now we can go any time if nobody finds out," I wink and a light bulb pops in her brain.

"Wow, yeah. I can't believe that flew by me."

"Don't worry about it love, you haven't had the rule-breaking gene fully rubbed in to you. Next time though we should probably bring a watch."

"Agreed."

"And honestly, if you want to get anything off your chest, I will gladly take you there. Cheering you up is probably the best thing I've ever done," I proclaim and she shakes her head.

"I'm glad you find my sadness so – "

"And _where _the hell have you two been?!"

Hermione and I freeze in our tracks as one dark haired hero confronts us from the end of the staircase, his ginger girlfriend with a shamefaced expression.

"Didn't feel like watching the Quidditch match, Potter, what's so – "

"Oi, you shut up, Malfoy," he points, absolutely livid. "I wasn't talking to you. Hermione, why the bloody hell would you go gallivanting with him away from the rest of the student body? Everyone was talking about your absence, about how disrespectful it is not to support other teams when you constantly talk about how we should."

He's striding over to us, scrutinizing our appearance.

"Is your – " he halts momentarily, face shining with anger now, nostrils flaring and teeth gritted. "_Why is your hair wet_?"

Ginny is horrified, and I can tell by the way Hermione stiffens that she's trying not to be obvious about what just transpired. She touches her head self-consciously, aware that with how thick her strands are, only half is dry.

"I had a shower," she replies, as if Potter has asked a stupid question.

"Yes, but his is damp too," he growls at me, reaching us at full height.

"Potter, I had one too. You just got back, you can't accuse us of anything. For all you know we've just met up and have been strolling around, but you assume the worst."

"I'm not a fucking idiot!" he yells, making me flinch as his saliva hits my face. "Ginny told me you were together, but she didn't know where you were going because it was a 'surprise'."

Hermione glares at her supposed best friend, who looks like she'll sink to the floor.  
"_I'm so sorry," _she squeaks, her palms against her cheeks.

"You two were in a bathroom, weren't you? A prefects one. How did you both manage to….no, I don't want to know. How would you feel if I told McGonagall you were abusing your privileges, huh, Malfoy? Surely this is against the rules!"

_Oh, no._  
Fuck no.

"_Harry, please!" _Hermione begs, tears threatening her again when we've only just settled them down an hour ago.

"No! You're acting reckless, don't you care about your reputation?"

"I don't if people don't care about respecting my choices or privacy!" she bites back. "You included. I'm actually happy, and you refuse to acknowledge it as the truth because you don't want me with him."

"Of course I don't! He's hurt you in the past, he'll do it again. He's capable of it, and now you're in too deep to realize that."

"Harry, just listen to her for once," Ginny cuts in as she comes closer, trying to hold his hand but he shakes it away, almost disgusted.

"Why!? I'm trying to do what's best, I'm – "

"No you're not! You're doing what _you _want to do, you're trying to make everything 'perfect' again like it was before last year but you can't force anything, you are just going to ruin it further by– "

_"WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT LAST YEAR, GINNY?"  
_Potter explodes, falling apart at the seams as I've never seen him do, and we're all silent. Ginny looks braver instead of weepy, like she probably should.  
"I'm sorry – I – that was out of line, I – "

He's flustered, but she backs away from his apologies, folding her arms so he can't access her. And now he looks like the cross-hair is on him, and for the first time in my entire existence I find myself feeling sorry for the idiot. Genuinely thinking that he must be having a rougher year than I ever imagined, just like Hermione. It's been a tough thing to mend, these scars and open wounds.

"It _was_ out of line," Ginny repeats icily, in a scary low tone. "And you know I'm right, or you wouldn't get so worked up over it. You want it to be like it was before everything changed, before last year. But she's already moved on. Accepting that Hermione loves somebody in Slytherin, and somebody you don't like, is something you'll have to do if you want to keep her close. You scold Ron, but at the end of the day you're just as bad as him."

"Why are you talking about me, Ginny?"

Oh, good grief.

Weasel rounds the corner alongside Lavender, Parvati and Finnigan, who sense the severity of the situation immediately. His expression goes from confusion to surprise and anger, the newcomers giving us the appraisal, stopping short when they notice the stance Potter has adopted.

"I was merely saying, big brother, that like you, Harry needs to accept that Hermione is old enough to make her own decisions without you two butting in because you don't like it."

"_Love?" _ Potter repeats, staring directly at Hermione, who recoils slightly, stepping back an inch.

"And the fact that he's a complete arse with a track record is something we should ignore? What friends would we be then?" Weasley counters.

"_LOVE?" _Potter repeats with more inflection.

"What are you on about, Harry?" Weasley asks with concern.

"Ginny just said that Hermione is in _love. _With that," he laughs disbelievingly at me.  
I've had enough.

"If you two were real friends, and trust me I've finally learnt the meaning, you'd give me the benefit of the doubt until I fucked up. And _then_ kicked me to the curb if I did. But since I won't fuck up, and since you don't understand that I have so much to lose if I lose her, and I know it, I'm not afraid to tell you so." My voice isn't strong when I find it.

"Ha! Friendship? _You? _That's rich, coming from a Malfoy. Manipulation is your middle name, I saw you use your words at my house, and even I fell for it for a second. But _love? _No, that's something totally foreign to you, outside of dear mummy coming to save the day. You could never – won't ever – "

"I _am _in love with her, Weasley," I hiss, my temper rising the more he insults me. "First time I've ever loved someone in my life, and understood what it meant.'

"_What?"_  
His expression has descended to one of a person slapped across the face.  
"_Do you love _him_, Hermione?"_

She hesitates for a mere second, catching my eye before nodding slowly. And the broken look on Weasley's face mixed with the gasps from the other Gryffindor's is enough to send Potter into a fit of rage again.

"_How _can you love him? He's vile! All you do is reads books in the library and apparently shag in bathrooms!" he blurts out stupidly, causing Weasel to lose all restraint, his face becoming white. The others are stunned at this information. Lavender takes the opportunity to clutch his fingers and drag him away from the ruckus, clearly enjoying real turmoil between real friends.

"You don't know anything about us," Hermione utters firmly, carefully. "You haven't bothered, not with me. Draco's offered to sit with us, sit with you, anything, but you won't do it. He apologized and showed you his life, and you don't bloody well care! You barely talk to me anymore, like everyone else. You said you'd try, and you haven't at all," her voice weakens at the end, choking on her words.

"Well how can I? You were supposed to be dating Ron! I thought you were head over heels! Madly in love, and he made a mistake. He was over the top to you, I know it. I know I'm at fault for staying at the Burrow, I should've came to see you, but I was on your side up until you decided to throw everything in his face! Dating Dean near Ron's birthday, and then bringing this idiot to his own house? Getting in the _Prophet, _what are you thinking? How could you be so irresponsible!?'

"_Me, _irresponsible_!?" _she huffs, throwing her hands up in sheer frustration. "Like this is all _my_ fault!?"

"That was my idea! To bring him to our house to apologise! Come on, Harry!" Ginny scolds.

"I didn't want it to end how it did, but it did! And you both did nothing when I reached out to mend it. It's Ron's own damn fault he was too scared to fix this, and I'm much happier now with Draco. The _Prophet _was the worst thing that happened to us in this relationship, and you know it! Stop yelling at me for things out of my control!"

"HOW CAN YOU BE HAPPY WITH A DEATH EATER WHO TRIED TO _KILL_ PEOPLE? WHO HATED YOUR VERY EXISTENCE UP UNTIL NOW! _HOW?_"

Bile rises to my throats, and I know my lips are trembling to stop myself from breaking down right now.

"STOP IT, Harry! I've told you, he's not the same person. We've all changed, we've all grown up. Forgive, but don't forget. I love Draco. _I. Love. Him." _She walks over to me, trying to hush me but it's not working. I can't feel her touch me, I'm trying to stop my mind.

"Why, though? What does he do that we can't? He doesn't care about elf rights, he doesn't care about equality. He couldn't give a shit about things that are important to you. Does he fuck you really nicely? Are his piano skills so seductive? WHAT IS IT?" Potter is deranged, he really does loathe me.  
Like everybody else, I'm thinking.

No, no, no, not again, not again.

"Stop speaking to me like I'm a child," Hermione cries, and now she's copying my motions, and momentarily my anxiety is paused when I see how distressed she is. It's replaced by something worse. More lethal.

"Then stop acting like –"

"Potter!" I bark, lashing out at him. "BE QUIET!"

His face snaps towards me, and he starts to get much closer, Seamus and Parvati passing knowing looks before sprinting off for help, no doubt.

"Have something to say, Malfoy?"  
He shoves me backwards with brute force I was unprepared for, and I trip backwards onto the steps. But I barely register it, getting up immediately.

_"Harry!"_

"Yeah, I do! I won't let you treat Hermione like she's nothing, like her opinion is invalid, when you know very well she's not stupid. You were supportive of this whole partnership until she started to like me, and now who's the one whose causing harm, huh? Still thinks it's me? From where I'm standing I'm the saint, and you're the sinner this time. You've made her cry! I've done nothing at all this year, and I fucking _get it, _okay. I get that you hate me, I get your reservations, but I'm damn well trying here to stop my bad behaviour and you won't let me. You know you can make or destroy me, and you hold it over my head. You refuse to see that she's okay, that I'm better now."

He's struggling for words, too stubborn the way I would be in his shoes.

"This goes deeper than her dating me, I understand it. I understand you, Potter. For once in my life, and I think it scares you. You want to protect Hermione because you feel guilty you didn't in the summer. You're still recovering from the war, I am too, and you're frustrated you still get triggered by it; angry or sad." Something registers in his face, but he shakes it away. "You don't want me to be human, but I'm not a villain. I'm not bullying people anymore. And maybe I'm a coward but I'll admit it, level with you. You just want something to hate. So please. Don't hate me anymore."

He spins round, from Ginny, to Hermione, back to me, scanning them. Still stone-faced.  
And I've lost.

"_Harry_, _you need to end this,_" Ginny whispers, in the phrase an ultimatum I don't think he recognizes.

"Malfoy," he takes a deep breath before tearing me apart. "You will never be anything in my eyes except pureblooded scum. Your father almost had us all killed, your Aunt killed the only family I had left, even _you_ had us all at risk numerous times. Even if you've reformed somewhat, I don't think I can accept it as good enough...no, I can't. You're a bloody coward who will forever bear his mistakes on your physical form, the dark mark is a punishment well deserved, because that was your catalyst. If you never had it, you wouldn't be like you are now, wouldn't have realized your mistakes. And now I still find you barely tolerable."

"Harry, enough," Hermione commands, blocking him from my view now. "You haven't spent any time with him to make that judgement."

"No, I'm not done."

"_Harry, look at him," _Ginny states, and I realize I'm shaking all over, too focused to let the feeling seep in.

"I am. And all I see is a stupid boy who expects sympathy for doing absolutely nothing. For somebody who only did things for the benefit of himself and one time his mother. At the risk of others souls. Are you even sorry, Malfoy? For poisoning Ron, for cursing Katie Bell? Or did you only cry in that lavatory with Moaning Myrtle because you didn't want to get caught?"

Clouds, or smoke, I don't know which, are washing over me, blurring my vision as he's still relentless.

_"Harry, stop it! Stop it!"_  
The girl I love is hysterical, and the last thing I can really see is McGonagall marching into view.

"You're pathetic, Malfoy! You are the biggest loser I've ever met, even more than your dad, Lucius, who is the laughing stock of wizards everywhere now and – _get off, Hermione!_"  
Vaguely, I'm aware of the smack of skin, but I can only hear now, my eyes closed._  
"_You wouldn't know what right is, what a moral is, if it punched you in the face. Just because you grasp basic concepts of love this year doesn't mean a damn thing. You stood by while your supposed girlfriend was tortured, and only saved us last year out of fear right before trying to curse us an hour later. Sacrifice is a word foreign to you; you don't care about anybody but yourself, you _use _everyone around you and you will _not _take people important to me from my life. You are not going to corrupt Hermione because she's too great of a person to give you a chance."

My ragged body hits the floor, I'm unable to hold it up. Salt is what I taste, sobs are wracking my frame, as someone nondescript puts their hands on me, and somebody else shouting hits my ears.  
One last time I force my lids open, to see the Ginny and my lovely lady berating him. Potter looks lost as our headmaster has appeared and joins in the assault. A flash of white hair and blue tie leaning over me, then I'm closing them again.  
All these statements cut so deep, because they feel so true and now they're seeping back into my mind, oh my mind's a mess.

_How did it come to this?_

That's the last thing I think before everything fades to black.


	49. The Chosen One

**Author's Note: Sorry it's been a month, loves. So sorry! Writer's block hit me _hard_. Please forgive me! :)**

**_You say you wanna stay by my side, darlin', your head's not right.  
See, alone we stand, together we fall apart,  
Yeah, I think I'll be alright.  
I'm working so I won't have to try so hard; tables, they turn sometimes.  
No, I ain't wastin' no more time._**

- **_Someday, _The Strokes.**

* * *

Everything's a mess.

Everything is _absolutely_ a mess.

Draco lays on the hospital bed, sleeping softly while my minds unsettled and filled with dread. I don't even feel like I'm streaming any sort of sense to the world right now. I'm just transfixed staring at him, trying to forget how his face looked before he collapsed onto the cold floor.

Madam Pomfrey told me he experienced a severe panic attack, Harry's shouting overwhelming him to the point where he couldn't handle the thoughts running though his head.

Ginny is silently sobbing in the corner, her muffled cries bringing me some life again for a moment. Luna is patting her back, I can't thank her enough. She made sure Draco was conscious while I lost myself at Harry.

I guess he and Ginny had been having problems ever since I started seeing Draco, because that's all he would talk about. How Draco was going to hurt me, how he already was. How reckless I was being.  
Ron had gotten over me since that night at the club, after realizing that he is actually a catch to girls. But he went on the hate train with Harry, constantly insulting me apparently, constantly being around my classmates that had nothing nice to say and spurring their hatred further.  
It was the last straw for Ginny when he didn't let it go. When Harry saw Draco with no vengeance or anger in him, nothing but pleading in his eyes, and tore him down anyways.

She dumped him.

I can't fathom it. I can't – I can't believe –  
Ginny separate from Harry? They're so in love, this isn't right.

I just feel _so_ responsible for tearing a rift between all my friends, but I'm so angry at them that right now I don't even care. That's a lie, I _do _care. I wish I didn't. Harry is obviously suffering about something deeper-seated, Ginny is really perceptive about things like that when it comes to him. But he was too stubborn for too long.

Ron hasn't bothered to come check in yet, and Merlin knows what kind of berating Harry is receiving right now from McGonagall. After Ginny informed him 'it's over`, he freaked. Pointed the finger at me, yelled some more at Draco, who wasn't even awake, and generally scared me to death.

I'm done crying for now, honestly. I'm so numb.

It's like I can't be content with anything. An hour ago everything was perfect. Alone, Draco and I become so intimate, so personal. Never again do I want to think about what he's done, he's clearly broken about it. All he's trying to do now is relate to me, which is actually really sweet seeing as we're so different on the outside.  
Images of us in the library a few weeks ago come flooding back. Talking about my head versus my heart. We're already in too deep. Hearing him tell me how much he loves me in the bath was enough to let me know that my decision wasn't a mistake. I knew in my mind that it wouldn't go well, but my mind was wrong. My teetering faith in Draco: _is he worth it, is this worth it?_ , a constant strain on me. I've decided to ease that tension; I'm really happy with him, despite all of this.  
I merely thought that my friends would stand by me, like they promised. Have I abandoned them too?

I wouldn't have if they'd just given my judgement a chance.

Ginny's still here, though. More loyal than the rest. I can't expect her to choose sides, but I guess after that episode, she has.

"Hermione dear, I know you are upset, but the Headmistress has requested you go to her office immediately." This comes from Professor Sprout, oddly enough.

She's popped her head into the ward, sympathetic. Nodding to her, I give Ginny a glassy gaze from my chair across the room. Ginny gives me a thumbs up, having halted her sobbing from the interruption, and gives me what can only be a very sad attempt at a smile.

I don't feel like speaking, so I get up with one last glance at Draco before trailing Sprout to McGonagall.  
"We'll stay here," is what Ginny states to me before I'm off. "We'll watch him."

Affection expands through my already worried body, feeling now even worse that she's willing to guard somebody I love and she doesn't, for me. Luna for once in her life is not perpetually content, a detail that worries and grates me more than Ginny's distress. If her intuition is one of trouble to come, it has to be right.

For now, I wipe the slate that is my five-track mind, to focus on the task at hand. The reason behind Professor Sprout's appearance is becoming clear immediately as we saunter through the halls. Whispers are shed all around us as we walk to the tower from the first floor, some of my classmates yelling at me for information.

"Did Ginny _really _dump Harry?" Parvati asks in a shocked voice.

"Hermione, Hermione! Did Malfoy lose his memory?" Seamus chimes in. "That's what Lavender said!"

I shrug them away, ignoring everybody, Professor Sprout follows suit in an attempt not to rouse them. They continue their thoughts in stage-whispers, too much of a bombardment for me to ignore.

_"Did he really collapse?"_  
"Yes, I heard Harry yelled at Draco. What did Malfoy do!?"  
"_I think they fist-fought."  
"_Draco was flirting with Ginny before the music performance, Harry was pissed!"  
"_I heard Ginny was livid with Harry because he wouldn't leave Hermione alone!"  
"_Really? I thought they weren't speaking?"  
"_Look, there she is! Hermione?"_  
"Do you really love him, Hermione? You said you loved him, that's what Ron said to Lavender!"  
_"Hermione!"_

Tears are threatening to break my steely resolve, all these assumptions already burning their way down the grapevine. Professor Sprout, bless her heart, now does all she can to waive them away. Instructing them to go to their dorms or the library. After excruciating minutes filled with mocking, crude remarks, inquisition with genuine concern, and diluted heavily with angry accusations that I'm the cause of Harry's relationship failing, we get to the griffin.

"I must go see Professor Sinistra now, sorry dear. Good luck." She marches off, and just now I realize my pulse is going three times its regular speed.

I go up with the password: "Godric's Sword."

Standing on the moving steps, waiting for them to rise up, I'm emotionless as I enter the doors with a very weak knock. Harry is there, barely placated, clearly told not to utter a word to me by the way he looks at me both apologetic and scathingly.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall begins softer than usual. "I know you're in no mood, but I have no idea of exactly what just happened in that hallway. Potter here is too distraught for me to comprehend him."

Awkwardly I go to sit next to Harry, feeling like I'm next to a stranger, not wanting to recall the events.

"He is under the impression that you and Mr. Malfoy were in the Prefects bathroom together. This is against school rules, and could be grounds for expulsion, I hope you are aware." I let my face stay in the same distant manner it's been in, refusing to let my insides spew out like I want them to. I can't _believe_ he told her.

"Now, we have no proof of anything, just that your hair was wet….Boris the Bewildered, who is the portrait guarding the bathroom, has assured me you and Draco never passed him. In fact, he has never seen Mr. Malfoy go in at all though he has the privilege. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time as there is no hard evidence, no witnesses. You wouldn't do something so foolish, would you? Be aware that this is a serious accusation and it won't be taken lightly."

"Thank you," I say, relieved for a millisecond. "What is it you want to know, exactly?"

"I want to know what made Potter say such terrible things to Mr. Malfoy. I only caught the end bits."

"He has a better understanding of that than I do, Professor," I reply with venom I think she is surprised to hear.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Draco didn't do _anything _to provoke Harry."  
He's about to interject, but McGonagall holds a hand up and looks back at me.

"Surely something must have happened, if not today."

"I'll be blunt, Professor. I don't know if you've been aware, or frankly care, but Draco and I have been dating now since break. It wasn't a silly rumour from the _Prophet. _Harry has chosen to react to this by being utterly disdainful and unbearable towards me, same with Ron. I've attempted being diplomatic, but have otherwise soent all my time with my boyfriend over my friends because of the lack of civility. They don't fancy the arrangement, I gather."

"And?" she reiterates, not getting the point. "Would that not be the reaction you expected?"

"It was. However, Draco has given them plenty of reasons to show that he is not the same boy as a year ago. It isn't as shallow as him not being nasty, and it wasn't just me pushing him to act that way. They refuse to accept or acknowledge his change. So I guess then, that Draco behaved the exact opposite of how Harry wanted him to, hoping that he was right and that I'd dump him. That's what he 'did'. When I did not go to the Quidditch match this afternoon, boiled blood and thoughts of us being intimate spurred Harry to affront Draco to an extent of which I've never seen. He verbally abused him in a far more personal and vicious way than I thought he'd be capable of. And he pushed him. Very hard."

Harry stirred the pot by nearly getting me in academic trouble. If he expects me to be gentle, he's gone off his rocker.

"Is this true, Potter?"  
Harry, through growling protest, shakes his head yes. McGonagall sighs.

"Did Mr. Malfoy actually say anything to you that was hurtful? Or push you, hit you?"

"Well he said he loved Hermione, and that made me physically ill."

"_Potter!" _she barks, but he just sits there stubborn and bitter, making me more perturbed. "This is unacceptable, you're adults. Now, Miss Granger, If you don't mind, what does 'plenty of reasons' mean?"

"He was trying to make amends; he _is_ trying. Really hard. I know he feels irreversible guilt about last year, about his family. Which is progress because his pride has been abandoned, something reprehensible for a Slytherin pureblood. He can't apologize for this stuff, can he? It's not enough. He can only take action and move forward. There's no more insults, no more crass. He showed us some of his most personal memories through a pensieve his family owns to try and win the Weasley family over. They invited us over for dinner to talk. He's shown more maturity than I must admit I would ever give him credit for. And somehow I'm supposed to be out of my mind because I care for him?"  
McGonagall is watching me wordlessly, I can tell she doesn't know what to make of my impassioned campaign for Draco Malfoy, the snobby kid who used to loathe me.  
"Look, I get that this is so off, it appears mental that I'd ever even talk to him. I just think all this is fuss is unwarranted."

"It's not, I'm only helping you! You're only with him because he's made you feel bad for him. You want to fix it, solve his problems for him," Harry mutters. "You're kidding yourself."

"_How_ _dare you!" _I fight very hard the urge to slap him in his face, clenching my fists instead.

"Potter, that is inappropriate," and her stern expression shuts him up momentarily. "I've been keeping watch on him, and Theodore Nott, for any sort of conduct that would indicate that they should be thrown out. So far, nothing. They've been just as traumatized as everybody else by what took place last year, _regardless- " _ she stresses as Harry means to interrupt her. "Regardless of whether or not they or they or their parents were good people. Sides are non-existent, Potter. Surely you've realized people can be both kind and mean. I am sympathetic to the fact you're having trouble adjusting to this, but this is Miss Granger's life. You cannot interfere when it's not your concern."

"But it _is _my concern! She's my mate, how am I supposed to go mind my business when –"

"Potter, you are distraught. You've just had a terrible experience. But unless you want to mend things with both Miss Weasley and Hermione, you must stop becoming fixated on the idea that Draco is out to get you and your friends. Now what is the _real _problem underlying to this?"

"What d'you mean, _real _problem?" He is quite offended, crossing his arms petutlantly.

"Clearly you're using Mister Malfoy as a tool for taking out your frustrations, but what's the matter?"

Harry glares at me, daring me to repeat what Ginny did. Because I know it's the truth. He wants everything to be like it was last summer, when we were happy altogether. Guilty, I know he is, that he didn't try to resolve the tension between Ron and I sooner. That perhaps if he made more effort I'd have lost my virginity to a Gryffindor and not his 'mortal enemy'.

Right now, I don't care about his shame. I was never mad at him for that, I never expected him to want to leave the Burrow when he actually was happy. Genuinely fine.

But the switch into the past? It's not happening, and never will.

"Look, Professor. I think this is something you and he can talk about without me. He's not going to be honest if I'm here. I gave you my piece."

"Don't be rude, Miss Granger." Her brow is furrowed at me, curious as to why I'm out of my usual character of politeness.

"Please believe me, it's true. I reckon he blames me for, well, what happened between he and Ginny," I state glumly.

Then the worst thing that could ever happen does. Tear drops glisten in his green eyes, and before I can apologize, Harry is crying. Stifling sobs that are too loud not to be heard, he buries his head in his hands.

McGonagall flops her head back onto her chair in resignation. "Alright, you can go. If you see Professor Sprout, please ask her to send up Mister Weasley if she sees him. Or if you see him, the same."

"Thanks."  
Fat chance I'm going on a manhunt for Ron. I zoom out of there, really unsettled, but thanking my lucky stars that there's no evidence against me, or Draco. The last thing we need is to deal with getting kicked out of school.

As I make my way back to the Hospital Wing, still getting questions fired at me because I was only gone about 10 minutes, I find it empty. Trepidation filling my senses, I check my watch as I reach Draco on his cot. It's 6:50.

Sunday is an early night for everyone in the castle.

"I'm sorry dear, but I'm afraid we're closing up for the day." Madam Pomfrey is close to the entrance, I didn't notice her at first, filling up water for a third year Hufflepuff with a fever. He's the only other patient besides Draco. "I had to send Luna and Ginny out."

"Do you know where they went?"

"They requested I tell you to go get some rest, Ginny would be waiting for you when you returned. Mister Malfoy is going to be fine, Hermione," she says sincerely and firmly. "He was much worse at the beginning of term. There's no physical damage on him, so he should be up and about for classes."

I exhale, trying to quell my anxiety down, her words unfortunately comfortless. I don't want to wait.  
"Okay, thank you Madam Pomfrey."

Leaning in, I kiss Draco on the forehead, and then run a hand through his hair slowly. He doesn't stir.

Our gracious nurse doesn't say anything to me as I do these things, and tactfully leaves me alone as I exit very weepy.

Solace is not found as I reach the common room, and to my dismay several people are crowded around Ginny, pestering her for information while she sits completely impassive on an armchair. I almost succumb to screaming at all these insensitive idiots into oblivion, maybe punch them, but decide instead on yanking her by the arm to drag her into our dorm.

Quips of conversation about Ron are all I hear when we get there, Lavender is gushing to Parvati. Again, I feel like I want to lose it on her; what a terrible human being. She goes dead silent when she see us, both pained and tired, and frowns. 'Secretly' rolling her eyes at the fact she has to move locales to talk about boys.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," Lavender says to Ginny, and to her credit, she does say it with sincerity. Parvati puts a hand on her shoulder, and nods sympathetically. Ginny doesn't reply, she hates people feeling bad for her. We could trade, because I don't, and nobody says anything to me.

When they leave, Ginny lays back on her sheets, staring at the ceiling.  
"I don't want to talk about it. I've said all I need to right now."

Getting up to go to my bed, I pull off my shirt, tie, and skirt, falling into it without grace. Wishing I didn't have to stay quiet as i'm restless.

"Remind me to thank Luna," is what she tells me last, and I promise I will. I owe her it too.

We lay there then, not bothering to discuss anything else because I know it will be pointless. Certainly hours go by, not sure how many. I drift off into uncomfortable sleep eventually.

* * *

Waking up to the realization that I'm tearing somebody I love apart from their friends is actually a worse feeling than knowing said friends will probably hate me forever. That said friends include Potter and can ruin my life if they feel so inclined doesn't even faze me anymore.

Which means a) I'm maturing, b) because I care about somebody's feelings more than myself, and c) fuck.

Drowsy is the overwhelming feeling I have as I notice I'm in the Hospital Wing. Ugh.  
I vaguely remember being dragged in here after having the worst anxiety I've ever experienced, and lots of yelling. Recalling the events, I wonder who is dead or alive. I wonder what happened afterwards. If Hermione finally broke and I'm alone again, if Potter spontaneously combusted.

I contemplate the endless options as I escape my confinement, taking heed when I pass Madam Pomfrey's office, where she also sleeps in case of an emergency. Strolling back to the dungeons, I'm surprised to find Nott awake when I get to my bed, and inwardly curse that I'll have to make awkward conversation.

His outburst at me has not been forgotten.

"Fuck mate, you're in one piece?" is his first response as I slump onto the mattress. I pause for a second before discarding all my clothes, fearing what will come next.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

My body tenses trying to prepare for the reply.

"God damn, everyone was in an uproar _all day_. It was almost equivalent to when Potter released that article in the _Quibbler_. Rumours been spreading that you and Hermione fucked in a bathroom somewhere, that Potter yelled at you, you lost your memory, you fist fought, you collapsed from some kind of spell or attack, and a bunch of other more extreme shit that likely is fake. Nobody knows what really happened because everyone involved fucked off. But Ginny dumped him, that much is certain. He was bawling in the hallway, I saw him; so was she."

"_What?" _I flip myself up as fast as possible, jaw hanging open. His eyes are wide like mine.

"You didn't know?"

"No, I bloody didn't know! I was in the Hospital, stupid."  
He rolls his eyes.

"Obviously, but why? Weren't you awake at all? It's been like 12 hours."

"_No_, I wasn't," I bite defensively.

"So what the hell happened then?"

This is ridiculous. I don't have any patience for this.  
"Potter yelled at me, said some really horrible things, and then pushed me. I know he was taking his anger out on me, he was frustrated about Granger dating me, and he and Ginny were obviously not in a good place. He wanted it to be like it used to, the three amigos plus girlfriend. But now I'm in the picture, and it's left a bad taste in his mouth. And I told him I knew it." I slump back onto my pillow, and even though I wasn't very tired, I know now for sure I won't be able to get back to sleep.

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, riled by his tone.

"You'll be Public Enemy #1, won't you?"

"I wasn't already?" I almost chuckle with malice.

He looks at me seriously. "Maybe, but it's only elevated now. I heard Seamus Finnigan cussing you out, about how it's your fault Potter and Ginny split up."

I groan, getting my frustration out. By bellowing like a child.  
"_I don't care!_ It's _not_ my fucking fault, is it? I've been nice, I've tried. What more is there I can do? Hermione's already going to be off her rocker because she'll blame herself."

"I don't know," he retorts quietly, shifting in his sheets.

"Why are you even still awake?" I mutter, fighting the urge to smother my face with a pillow and scream til my lungs burst. It's imminent that I'll get beaten again. This time I'm fighting back, fuck it all.

"Dunno. Couldn't sleep. Guess I've been used to you being here. Was wondering if you were alright," he says detached. Like it was a hard thing to admit.

Instead of feeling touched, I scoff. "You were wondering if I was alright? Well I'm not. Clearly, I'm not. I _was_, up until after the stupid Quidditch match."

"Why so mad?" he questions me sensitively, surveying me as if _I'm_ in the wrong.

"If you cared you could've bothered to come see me," I explain to this daft roommate of mine.

"I didn't think you'd want that! But thanks for getting angry, you fucking tool," he grunts crossly. "I've been feeling kind of bad about what I said to you, but you act so indifferent towards me now."

"Yeah, because I was trying to forget about it," I mumble, pushing my head under the covers and lying on my belly, so I can softly pound my forehead onto the headboard..

"Well it's like it doesn't matter to you at all. What I said. And if it didn't affect you, how I feel doesn't too, because maybe I was wrong about us being friends. I was damn upset then. Yet you said you thought we _were_ mates, and now here you are uncaring about what I have to say."

Are you fucking kidding me?

"I'm uncaring because you called me a fucking _user. _You tore me to shreds, didn't you? And you meant it , don't lie and say you didn't. Perhaps you didn't mean it all as strongly as you said, but there you have it, you still did. Don't expect me to be sympathetic to how you feel when you didn't extended me the same courtesy. _Friend."_

"I tried to apologize and you wouldn't have it!"

"Because it felt like you would only say it so I wouldn't sneer down my nose at you!" I yell, fumbling my way out of my blanket. He looks just as pissed as I do, but I'm not affected. "We're one and the same, Nott. We have one girl in our lives who likes us, and everyone else doesn't. When I had nobody, I attempted to make nice the only way I could with you. Maybe I was an asshole, but it wasn't all intentional. Any reconciliation I had tried to make then with you was gone when you didn't control your fucking mouth."

"Oh, fuck you! Millicent was right about you. _You'll never change," _he spits, and I'm so overwhelmed by rage, I actually have to tell myself to breathe. My heart is pounding. I can hear, nay feel, the beat speed up.

I can't be here right now.

"This whole thing isn't _about_ you, you tosser. I'm sick and tired of everyone making every little thing about them, and i'm sick and tired of not being left alone. Like I'm always the villain, when - _ahhhh_."

Not giving it any thought, I jump out of bed and hastily pull on my school sweater with slacks. My wand is snatched before I'm out the door again, and I don't dignify Theo with a reply when he asks me where I'm going.

Pacing in the common room, I'm feeling trapped. These walls are closing in, and it's eating me alive as to what happened today. I am desperately wanting to speak to my girlfriend, for information and comfort, but I can't for another 5 hours.

If I go outside and get caught…it's just more trouble than it's worth risking. Besides, she's probably in her room. There's no way I'm going to be able to concentrate on reading, or school. Now it's Monday and I'm going to have a new pile of homework anyways. So I park myself on a sofa and stare at the embers in the fireplace, watching the tiny activity in the Black Lake.

All night.

I'm completely exhausted by the time the first of the early birds arise, some second years, and they eye with me a mix of disdain and morbid fascination. I can't even be bothered to tell them off.

Re-entering the dorm is not an option, so I just sigh and make my way to the Great Hall, at 6:45. There's no food there yet, obviously, they serve it at around 7:15 and even that's premature. I'm literally the only one in here as I try to camouflage into the ugly wooden benches, putting my face down so I don't have to look at anybody entering.

Time passes as slowly as it did when I was on the sofa, and as I can hear clanks and gentle morning whispers pass between happy peers, tired peers, I actually envy them because of the normalcy they seem to live in.

Eventually, my arms become asleep from lying my fat head on them for so long. When I do finally decide to take a shot at toast, the room is uncomfortably three quarters full. I'm saved after one more moment however, because I see her come in.

And she's very unhappy.

Her face contorts into some kind of emotion resembling relief when she notices me, a small favour I really do appreciate. People are whispering about her as she passes them, but she disregards them to come and sit beside me. So quietly that if I was facing another way I wouldn't have heard her.

"Hi," she says.  
I study her, purple circles under her eyes, clothes not as pristine. Her hair is in a messy braid, and I can tell she didn't care at all about how she looks.

"Hey."

"Are you feeling okay?"  
She skims my hand with her fingers, and I grab them to rest my head on top.

"No," I reply honestly. "Woke up at 1 am to go back to my room and have Theo yell at me."

"_About what?"_

"How I wasn't sympathetic to him asking me what the matter was. I asked him why he was awake, which he was, and then he explained to me a bunch of crap that happened I'm sure you already know about. It's almost as if he expected me to be touched he was thinking about my welfare."

"Draco, he was trying," she says exasperated, but I'm not letting blame fill me in the way she can usually make me feel.

"I know he was, but then he went on about how I've been acting all aloof around him, like I don't care, and it's because I've been attempting to get over what he said. Move past it. Stupid prick," I whine to her.

"Did you tell him that? And are you?" she questions with a worried face.

"I _did_ tell him that. And I was until he said that Millicent was right and I'll 'never change'. Just, _agh._ I can't win._" _I take a deep breath and Hermione pats my back soothingly.

"Why aren't you wearing a dress shirt or tie?" she asks suddenly, bewildered. "Or socks?"

"I'm not losing it. Yet. I got so furious I had to exit the premises. I couldn't sleep any longer so I sat in front of the fireplace. Didn't feel like going back up before I got here."

"Why?" Her voice sounds so dead, so defeated, I want to kill somebody or weep at it. "Why so furious?"

"Because I knew I'd wake up and you'd be like _this, _blaming yourself for everything, and then I'm going to have more and more shit yelled at me for who knows how long because everyone is going to think I'm the root cause for the ending of Saint Potter and his Lover."

She's shocked silent for a minute.  
"But it's not your fault."

"Of course it's not, but it feels like it. And I hate that it actually affects me."

"It just means you care. Look – I – god, I don't know," she stutters as she sees my expression. Then she heaves a great sigh.

"Are _you_ alright, then?" I bid her, exasperated. "I reckon not."

"_No, _I have no idea what I'm going to do."  
The story of last night spills out from under her lips, licking me in all the most uncomfortable places. Potter endlessly sour all the time I've been holding Hermione's hand, Weasley slagging me off to whoever would listen to him. Ginny all the while was in the middle, attempting at indifference. The tension of not exploding at Granger and I must have been mounting for Potter, as surely he promised to behave and yesterday proved he couldn't.

All the time she relays her worries, I'm idly twisting a knife between the crevices of my fingers. Trying to be calm by keeping its balancing act going at the knowledge that everyone around me thinks I'm responsible for this. I will not let it drop as I feel shame swallow me whole at the idea of Ginny sobbing under a sheet all night. Of people glaring at Hermione menacingly when she was trying to be ignored or people hounding her for answers. I keep it together until she tells me, "I think Harry is upset because of the Battle," and then it clanks out of my grip onto the ground.

"_What do you mean_?" I question darkly, my knuckles tight, temper threatening to be gone again.

"I've been trying to figure out _why _exactly he's been so angry," she utters silently, pleading with her eyes to listen. "He ignored me before this, but I've noticed in the past few dyes he's really lost it. The anniversary of the battle is a week away. And also, Dumbledore's death is only about a month away now too, isn't it. I don't know if the school is going to do something to commemorate it or what, but it's awfully close. I think just looking at you evokes the bad memories, and you're the only one he can point blame at here."

Her eyes are apologetic, and I don't want to blow up at her for telling the truth. But it's awfully discerning, isn't it?

"Lovely."  
I guess I haven't been keeping track of the date, the days seem to mold together now, they don't seem an eternity to last in this giant pit of shit we call an institution.

"I'm going to try and talk to him. Or Ron. Anybody. He needs to snap out of it, he's reverting to how he was a few years ago. During fifth year. _He deserves to be happy_," she whispers, and with my emotions calling in to question my sanity, I feel like bawling and shouting.

She's the victim here, and she wants to instigate the resolve _still._

"I thought he was pissed because he wants it to be the quartet of Gryffindor's, merrily in tune with each other, like it was last year," I feel myself spit spitefully. To which Hermione visibly shrinks.

"I think it's everything," she mumbles. Her vulnerability softens my demeanour, it's my weakness.

"Well do what you must, though my opinion is that you deserve better. But what do you want to do now? Lay low for today? Forever? Be separate?" _Break up, _is what my mind suggests, thinking with a terrible sinking feeling that if this keeps going she's definitely going to.

"I suppose that you _should_ be separate from me, if I am going to raise the white flag," she sighs.

"Okay," I concede, heart falling a bit at the notion of being solitary. "Just know right now if one more person bitches at you and I'm present, I'm not being nice. Not even sure if I could handle them if they targeted me."

"Alright," she groans, an argument not even worth it.  
I know were both at our wit's end.

She holds my hand for a very long time, until we're nearly late for our respective lessons, and only when most are scrambling not to be tardy does she grant me one kiss. It's short, but somehow it conveys some kind of hope to me that it'll all be well in the end.  
Or maybe I'm batshit insane and I'm reading too much into what mashing of lips mean. Optimism is not a trait I inherited.

I'm surprised, as the day goes by, that I last as long as I do.  
Every single professor comments on how I'm improperly dressed. Every single student, knowing I won't fight back, berates me for being a many number of colourful things; A bastard, pureblood scum, vile, life-ruiner, ugly wanker, terrible human being, etc.

Several people shove me or 'accidentally' trip me. They have the sense to bugger off Hermione when I'm in the same room, because even if I am away from her, I'm surely creepy in the way I play watchdog. At lunch we both head to the library and sit across from each other in different workstations. To start to review NEWT schedules that were just handed out. Or at least she does; fighting exhaustion, I'm counting down the seconds til I can go back to bed.

But no, of course we can't get off scot-free. Of course it is with the final block of the day, where I almost made it, and my anger is pent-up from hiding it, that I am challenged with fight or flight. I believe Hermione and I have become accustomed to being shunned for a month. Having people voice themselves to us their honest, inward revulsion is jolting.  
Like they've all turned into Loony Lovegood, but far nastier.

It's an odd chain of events that spirals into madness. Where the last straw is thrown into the trash. Picture this, if you will:  
An unfortunate looking Charms lesson where it's all the wrong people. Flitwick is oblivious with his grating squeak, but thankfully, I delusionally thought, it was theory and no practice. A lecture draws no attention to me or my lady. It goes by in a pace much like the rest of the periods did, excruciatingly slow. I tally all the dirty looks I gather from the day to grand total around 137, an exercise to distract me from the hatred.

Saint Potter and his comfort crew are all together as the bell rings, the Gryffindor boys and several stragglers. Hermione, who has managed to grin and bear it like a star, motions to me to come to her. Rookie mistake.

I knew what it was for, McGonagall handed us our performance review during music. Though she's graciously waited to open the envelope, she needs to know if our efforts were fruitful _now_; I could tell she was torn on whether she could resist. So sitting on a bench down the hall, we examine it, thinking that everyone might be eager for dinner and leave us be. Wrong.

It doesn't matter that we were about a ludicrous metre away from each other, the fuse for the bomb was that I happened to smile the same time she did. Because guess what? We got all Outstanding's. From McGonagall, that's a _fucking _hard feat, even if I'm with Hermione. O for effort, skill, improvement, making no mistakes; everything. Our essay was detailed enough that McGonagall wasn't lost learning about a Muggle band. Our performance was the 'most passionate', the best in the advanced section.

Didn't feel like I've ever succeeded like that before, and damn it feels good to know I could do it.  
I'm oddly overcome with a wave of attachment to Hermione, as thinking about our assignment triggers the whole experience of us and how she's changed me, what we've done together.

Yet still, I decide I can only grin my sentiments to her; is that a crime?

Having Lavender Brown whine out a "HOW DARE YOU FLAUNT YOURSELF IN FRONT OF HIS FACE?" confirms me that yes it is. Snapping to the present, the delirious happiness that was briefly shining on Granger's face burns out into shock. Flaunting what is a mystery. Our relationship?

But it doesn't stop there. Timing is a heartless cunt.  
No, Lavender is, I think.  
Potter halts, and Weasel looks just as speechless as Hermione. But he's holding her hand, the fool, a member of the party. I don't hand out any sympathy to people who spread lies and have continual bad taste, and I don't have the patience.

Hermione is about to respond, mouth quivering, unnerved about what to say. She was really upset this morning, but it's spiraled into self-loathing because of all the insults by the way she's carrying herself.

"I – I'm not sure I know what you mean," is the feeble rebuttal. Even the usual suspects like Finnigan, who would usually snort in derision, don't. This is too serious.

And I know I'm not ready for this confrontation as I spot Ginny coming round the corner to go to the Great Hall, everyone's backs turned. She looks affronted at the scene, but decides she's going to be an idiot instead and keep going in the same direction out of some sort of twisted dignity.

I suppose dear Ronald has been mouthing off to his new lover all day, as surely his sister cannot be to blame, and Lavender is incensed to defend poor Harry, who looks like he's going to hurl.

"_Oh, _I think you do," she cackles fiendishly.

"We're just sitting on a bench to look at our marks," I sneer, and these are the first words I've spoken all day to anyone but Hermione. "Is that offensive?"

Weasley intends to start in on me, but surprisingly, Potter mutters a quick 'don't' and he complies reluctantly.

"Yes it is, actually. You two cause a break up and have the _audacity_ to sit here and eye-fuck each other like nobody else matters."  
I swear to Merlin, if she wasn't a 'delicate' woman.,,

"The _audacity_? We haven't been together all day, you swot. I think you can lay off and quit stirring up drama you so desperately want to be a part of," I jab acidly, to which she has barely a reply. "This isn't about you, so maybe _you _stop having the audacity to pretend like you care."

"How _dare_ you, you –"

"They didn't cause the break up, _Lavender. _I ended it because _he _did. Now fuck off and leave them alone."

Like a rehearsed play, everyone on their feet spins round. Ginny is seething, pointing the finger at Potter who doesn't know how to react to this ruckus.

"Ginny?" Lavender cries. "It's not his fault, he's so distraught over you. About _them._"

All I can think is shut the hell up, but I sit still and watch it all unfold. Does this girl have to butt in everywhere?

"Doesn't mean he's innocent."

"But – honey, you're delusional, can't see straight. You're so upset over him, we saw you crying."  
Grotesquely, she finds it okay to run for a _hug, _but Ginny is not having it.

"Yes, I _am, _actually. Upset that is, my brain is in perfect condition. Get him to apologize to _me_ and to _them_ and maybe we can 'hug it out'.," she bites. "Your new boy toy is pretty guilty too, in case you were wondering. Just because he's suddenly into you again, doesn't mean you have to go along with every little word he says. Use some fucking common sense."

"What the fuck, Ginny?!" Weasley shouts.  
I like Ginny more and more by the day.

"_You're_ the one who's been agreeing with everything Harry has said about Draco and then going round to tell other people who aren't involved. When he hasn't done anything bad. Maybe he's not shown you anything to make him trustworthy, but obviously Hermione is happy. You keep ruining it by tearing her apart with your stupid selfishness, making her feel bad. Malfoy hasn't done shit at all when he damn well could by now from your actions. And you think _they_ are the bad guys? Open your fucking eyes! Just let it the fuck go! Stop clinging on to what has been. You put me in the middle, were bitter all the time expecting me to be content! If you're going to start a war, maybe next time treat me well and don't ignore me if you'll make me pick a side. _I can't believe you_!" she screams.

Potter is really looking jumpy now. "Ginny, I – " he begins, but her stone-cold gaze cuts him off.

"_No, _I told you time and time again what was wrong and you didn't listen!"

"Are you insane? What is your problem!?" Weasley barks when he notices his crestfallen friend.

"YOU ARE!"  
Losing herself, she just stomps the ground and stalks away again, flicking her hair when she passes Potter, and leaving us for fodder with a gang of roused lions.

"See what you've done?" Lavender growls to Hermione, and now I realize she harbours deep seated jealously towards Hermione's unwanted popularity and is using this for revenge whether she knows it or not.

"She hasn't done anything, you complete idiot! Didn't you listen to a word Ginny said, or are you like Potter and ignore her too?"

"Draco, _no," _Hermione commands me, holding my raising arm; my verbal slip up riling the boys.

"OI! Lay off him and her, you corrosive sorry excuse! You're the cause of all Harry's suffering and you still think it's alright to exist!" Weasley says.

"No, he's _not_ to blame, Ron. If you could just try,_ try _to be nice, this would – "

"It's not even Malfoy's fault, Ron," chimes in Thomas, whose suddenly his friend now? "It's hers. She's smart and knew what would happen, didn't you Hermione? Still decided to date him, didn't you? Guess he must be good under the sheets , huh? Buys you nice things?"

_Oh hell, no._

One look at her face and I'm standing up, ready for it.  
"Don't you blame her for this, Thomas. Don't _ever_ use that tone towards her again, or talk to her like that! She's the only person who's tried to make it work and gets the short end because you all hate me."

"Don't _tell_ me what I can't do, you disgusting sack of dung," he retaliates through gritted teeth. "What are _you_ going to do about it?"

"I am bloody well tired of being a doormat. Ignoring you hasn't done anything, maybe a little _action_ will shut you up."

"Action?" Longbottom rings in from the back, scoffing. "Go ahead and try. I think I'll really enjoy this."

"You're the most cowardly guttersnipe I've ever come across," Weasley laughs. "You really want to hit us without hiding behind your wand?"

Provoke and I will react. It's been a long time coming. Only this time, it's damn well personal. No Crabbe or Goyle to intimidate, no father as a threat, I pick my wand up and drop it.

"Yeah, I _really_ do."  
Fist to skin leaving him no time to prepare, Weasley's nose is bloody from my punch. Lavender shrieks with concern, Hermione with what's to come. While I get the insane compulsion to grin very wide.  
Holy fucking hell, that was well deserved. Payback, if it's broken.

Honestly, I might be out of my mind because now he's blind with rage and has swiped my jaw. But I feel no pain. Nothing.  
"You call that a hook?" I choke out in hysteric laughs, momentarily pausing him at the sight of me with blood streaking my skin, pouring down my chin, and I don't even waiver. "Pathetic."

Surely disturbing, I must appear. I want to break down and chuckle at myself, and this whole dismalscenario.  
"Well come on then? Who's next? I've nothing to lose by this, do I? You'll loathe me in the morning whether or not I do something."

Longbottom has been aching to get me forever, and I see the on switch change as he decides he'll man up. Going in for another blow, Potter stops and pulls him back by his shoulders.  
"Just leave him. Not worth it."

"Oh, _now _you want to be sensible Potter? After all that rubbish?"

He stares at me with such loathing, that i'd be long dead if looks could kill.

"_Please_, Draco, enough. Let's go," Hermione wants to pull my arm away desperately, but I sense this isn't over. "This isn't how I wanted this to be, Harry. I never did."

"Well _why _did you let it then?" Weasley snarls. But before I attack him, Granger interjects.

"Harry, I know why you're angry, and I know Draco is the person who you can take it out on and have it be justifiable. But you need to stop. It's gone too far. I understand that you're unhappy with me but I never for a second wanted you to stop being my friend. You and Ron both promised after that initial _Prophet _mess that you would see what he's like now. For me. You forgot that on break Draco was tolerable once we got to school. Because your past interactions distort your view of him now, you refuse to see him now. And the Gryffindor horde here reinforces to you what to make of him based on l-lies."

The angry peers look suddenly remorseful, her wobbly voice perhaps showing she's sincere.

"You've treated me like I'm nothing, and because of that and your inability to just let it be, Ginny couldn't stand you anymore. Why are you turning into someone so spiteful when you don't have a reason to act that way? The past is over. Look at yourself now, and compare yourself to Ginny. She _did_ try for me. Besides Luna, she's the only one. You think I spend too much time with Draco? Well he's the only one who makes the _effort_ to be with me. And I don't condone him hitting you, but to be honest, up until this afternoon I wanted to smack you both too. There's only so much you can take before you fall off the rails. Draco didn't deserve what happened yesterday and you know it. I had every intention of coming and discussing all this like we used to, like friends. I felt responsible for your break up, and I meant to resolve it. But I can see now you aren't ready for it. I just wanted to help. I laid low without him, without any comfort or guard today, to wait for you. I would've waited alone for weeks til you were ready, and you know what? So would Draco. For my sake and my well-being. And that kind of expense is why he's now better than both of you in my eyes, and why I will reside with him now. Waiting for _you _to come to me."

She has succumbed to tears again, Potter and myself included. His are probably out of sadness and realization that this is hard for her to say, and that she means it.

But I'm close to crying because she's truly chosen me; I did it. I won out even though I fucked up badly right now. So brave and resilient, if it's possible, I just fell harder for this girl.

And the fact that she stood up to them is so baffling to everyone, they are completely paralyzed by this speech. Nobody has a response, so she's motioning me to follow her. We quickly move in silence outside. She needs fresh air and peace; and once she breathes in deeply, she makes her way to me and buries her face in my chest.

No sobbing, I think there's nothing left.

"_I love you so much, Hermione_."  
Her hands on my sweater folds tighten while I wrap my arms around her, squeezing tight.

"_I'm sorry," _she murmurs into me, but I shush her as delicate as I can.

"Don't be. I'm sorry I lost it. I was out of my head. I just – "

"You couldn't handle it, I know," she cuts me off, looking up at me. "It's fine, Ron was being – just, I don't want to think about it all."  
I wait for her to start talking again as she retracts her body and travels down the pathway to giant stones on the hill above Hagrid's hut.

Gingerly settling herself against one of them, I drop down beside her to face the expansive grounds, impassively watching deer dart in and out from the forest.

"I love you too, by the way," she tells me as she realizes she can snuggle in closer here. "I made the right decision. They can come to me first, because I know they'll be serious about this when they do. I just hope it's a shorter wait than the last time, and I hope Ginny can forgive him. She can tough it out like the best, he must have _really_ fucked it.."

Though I don't say it aloud, I truly do admire her optimism in her friends. The fact that she's still open to them apologizing and reconciling almost straight away. I think Potter doesn't realizes all he has to do is say 'I was wrong' to get the wheel going. That's what I did, after all, and look where it got me.

I'm also amused at her unusual cussing.

"Are you okay, by the way? You're really dripping with red. Here let me – "

And I just let her talk, do what she has to, because I know she just wants to let it all out. Say her thoughts and reassure herself without me agreeing. She cleans my face, and tries at my clothes.

"Thanks," I lean in to kiss her.

Remembering how to smile too, she returns the gesture and the passion we threw aside for a night heats my fingertips and relights within her. Touching the nape of her neck and the hair on her head is enough to set me off on a relentless frenzy of snogging. No protests come back to me, she grabs my head and furiously tugs at my hair. Swiftly she ends up on my lap while I lean back to support her. Her straddling me plus the infinite smooches she grants cause my insides to stir.

Without warning, she gets off me to stroke me with vigour, and I moan without even caring who hears it. I wasn't expecting this, but I need it. I fucking _need_ her. While she kneels and undoes my zipper for better access, I snake my hand under her skirt to to rub her through her panties simultaneously.

"Oh_!," _she groans in surprise._ "Keep going, keep going please."_

I melt my lips to hers again as she begs me. It's _so_ sexy when she pleads, I crave such closeness she does. Furiously it seems we're trying to make each other wet and hard, our mouths refusing to separate, waiting to see who will give in first.

"Take off your pants," she beseeches me, and I comply as fast as possible while she slips off her underwear.

I don't even get my legs free as she sets herself on me, pumping up and down on my cock immediately. Taking all of her frustration out on me, it seems, and I'm in heaven right now as a result. She pins my wrists to the ground to go her exquisitely fast pace, and I buck my hips up to match. The combination of her pleasured whimpers with filling her so deep and my arousal from how sudden and dangerous this feels makes this experience not long enough.

She cums quite quickly, and quite long, causing me deep gratification while promptly making me get off too. I actually have to stop her hips moving as she's kept on riding me. Right after I cum I'm too sensitive, but she's got me so horny I'm still up for the ride if you will.

"_I needed that_," she pants after a sheepish apology to wanting another round. Collapsing beside me, I gather my trousers up and grab her into my body.

"I'm good for another go if you give me a minute."  
Hermione lets out a long needed chuckle and rests her head on my shoulder.

"Maybe," she muses. "That was liberating, I think I might be alright to go inside later actually."

"Use me anytime, honestly. I don't mind. Angry? Frustrated? Call me. Middle of the night, 8 in the morning. I will find you," I tell her shamelessly and she giggles again, a beautiful sound.

"I love you."

"And I you, lovely. Crazy day, huh? Now it doesn't seem so bad."

"Still is for me, but I think you can make it better. At least temporarily."

The next two hours are dedicated to lying in the setting sun discussing everything that doesn't involve Potter and Weasley, with spontaneous blowjobs and fucking included.

Nightfall occurs, forcing us back in, and I leave her to go to the dungeons with an empty stomach, a full heart, and tired eyes. I almost let slumber take me immediately, but let myself go with the knowledge that just a few hours alone with Hermione can make me calm and ready for the next day of shit. She sends me off with a smile.

I'd do this forever if I had to, and I think she would too. It's worth it.  
The fact she is still with me is baffling, but I guess for once in my sorry life, I am doing something right.


	50. New Leaf

**Author's Note; Again, I've been a little dickhead and failed to update properly. I know this chapter is not long, but I hope you like it loves, it feels right where i ended it. I think you're owed an explanation:**

**I've been depressed lately, truly and completely depressed. It's very miserable, hard as i'm sure some of you know, and that is the only explanation I can give. I've been unable to come up with anythign good which is why i've been focusing on my other fics. Had a terrible summer, and school isn't much better, adding to being very busy is all it's accomplished. And I haven't felt the same drive to keep going with this fic until now. Sorry xx**

{}

_**Don't tell me **__**the bad news,**__**  
**__**Don't tell me anything at all.**__**  
**__**Just tell me **__**that you need me;**__**  
**__**And stay right here with me.  
**__**If you want me to wait, **__**I will wait for you,**__**  
**__**If you tell me to stay, **__**I will stay right through.**__**  
**__**If you don't wanna say anything at all,**__**  
**__**I'm happy wondering.  
- Wondering,**_** Good Charlotte**

* * *

The mood is melancholy; ironic actually.

Today is a _celebration, _not a mourning we've been told. Be happy, not sad.

It's been exactly one year since the battle. So much loss, so much sacrifice, and we're meant to be proud that we won, we're meant to feel as if we're veterans who deserve the utmost respect for death and destruction. Even if we were doing it for the 'greater good', it doesn't cancel out the fact that people risked their whole life for it. I refuse to be in high spirits because of that.

All day long I've been shot dark looks from everyone around me, I've never felt more alone. Ginny was holed up in the common room, and _he_ hasn't been in class. Draco's missing, and he didn't inform me prior to making this decision. We were both jumpy when McGonagall informed us that there would be a 'Memorial Ceremony'. And yet…..I still thought he'd be here.

Be here sitting next to me in uncomfortable wooden chairs in this massive stone hall that isn't so Great. But he's not.  
So I'm solitary, next to a random Hufflepuff first year, while names of everyone who are long gone are read out in a list as if they're ingredients for a recipe rather than souls buried into the dirt. And Harry is up there in front, Ron settled beside him. Ginny is with Luna, they got here before me and they're further away than I wish they were. All of us are fighting the tears I wish would come. But I'm numb, because this is much harder than I anticipated, these memories flashing in and out of my head are making me wonder if I've gone insane today.

Ron and I kissed exactly one year ago, around this same hour too. The first time we finally succumbed to one another, to admit we were in love, or what I thought it must be. And that same night, _Draco_, my current boyfriend, snuck into the Room of Requirement on some sort of ego mission to retrieve his wand. _Why? _I ask myself this questions maybe once every day._  
_He was a coward that night. I can recall him telling Crabbe and Goyle not to kill Harry, or us, but that doesn't mean _anything. _He should've known how powerless he'd become compared to his 'friends'. Why did he do such horrible things in the past? Those actions accidentally killed a student, even if he was foul, even if he tried to curse _me _with Avada kedavra; Crabbe _died._

And it's odd how I can only imagine…in all this, about _Draco, _and not my fear that he could make those mistakes again. He won't. Somehow…I'm certain of it.  
It's more that he's experiencing such an intense guilt that he can't even bring himself up out of bed. That he thinks he doesn't deserve the 'privilege' to be sat here with the rest of us. He's a victim in this, too. He didn't want to be a Death Eater, he wanted to save his family, and look who raised him? You think he'd be able to make good decisions with prejudiced parents? Of course not.  
He was pardoned, given another chance. The past is gone, I don't see why nobody can see this. It's not as if I want to forget, but I don't understand why they have to punish him for attempting to live a different life when it's clear he's sorry.

Miserable, I'm _miserable._ I want Harry and Ron back, I want Ginny to be happy again. I _want _us all to get along together, but it's my fault for choosing Draco, I knew they would react that way. This was supposed to be the year of no pain.  
_Why did I have to go and fall in love?_

* * *

"Why did I have to go and fall in love?"

Staring at this ceiling again, the words spill out of my mouth. I was so damn joyful when she chose me, I _should _be in a state of constant bliss. But I'm not.  
The only coherent, consistent thought that runs through my head is that I am not worthy of her, and I will never earn the right.

This wonderful merriment of the commemoration of Battle isn't helping at all. What are we celebrating? The defeat of the Dark Lord and his followers. His _Death Eaters._  
And I was one of them; what I'll always be. It's branded here, on my fucking skin, _forever_.  
No good, _I'm_ no good. Everything was so much better when I was ignorant of how much of a prick I was and am. I have had recurring nightmares for the past few days of Crabbe rising from his grave, floating to me; taunting me.

"_Why do you to live when you dragged me to find Potter in the first place, huh Malfoy?"_

He talks to me, he smiles at me, and then bursts into flame. I haven't been able to sleep.

Yet I don't want to leave my sheets.

I don't know what to do.

I should've just gotten up, I should be upstairs instead of wallowing, next to Hermione, pretending like I don't care what people think. But that façade I used to play has runs its course, and I just don't see myself ever being able to convince anybody again that I'm worth more than I am. I care far more than I could ever admit, I so desperately desire to just _blend _in, instead of standing out like a gaping wound on an otherwise untouched body that bleeds and stains everything it touches. This green and silver has marked me forever like the tattoo, my name I once prided will prevent me from ever getting anywhere in life. _I know it_, I know it.

I made a promise to my sanity that I will try for _her, _but she's become low. She has to be. She's up there getting glares twenty-four-seven. Potter will start a scene next time I see him when we're alone. Punching Weasley was a bad idea, it felt too damn good for me to properly anticipate the consequence.  
It just boils down to the fact that _never _will I like those two. How is this going to end?

How could I possibly let this run its course, knowing the path leads to a choice she's going to be forced to make?

_Well sitting here solves nothing, _my brain reminds me, as I become acutely aware of my heart pumping violently in my chest.  
I sit up.

They'll probably kick me out the Great Hall.

"_I must be out of my mind."_

* * *

"_So let us never forget the men, women, children, and loyal creatures such as centaurs and house elves, who helped save the Wizarding World. Let them rest forever in our memories, not as legend, but as souls and beings with individual emotions, individual motives, but the same brave spirit to go forth and vanquish evil that we vow never to see again. Let us celebrate our lives, and the people who still live on, many sitting in this room, who survived a war to see the light of day, and created a change that will move mountains for future generations. And finally, let us continue with our happiness forevermore, thanking our stars and our minds for the success we have had."_

Though the ceremony has drug on with discomfiting speeches, and songs, and just things that make us feel _terrible,_ we're all weeping from the memories.  
Our _Headmistress_ is crying, something that makes her appear even more resilient than I remember. She has a stern smile as the tears roll down her cheeks, a defiant stare to all her pupils, most of whom are reacting the same, but are careless as they clap.

"And now, a few words from the boy who is responsible for the ultimate death of Lord Voldemort," she continues, ignoring the flinches from the audience, "Harry Potter."

A resounding applause echoes off the windows and back to Harry, who has stood up, obviously nervous. He's always hated this kind of attention, but I can tell with the way he walks that he has a sense of duty, and a deep seated want, to pay his respects.

"People have always praised me as the reason Voldemort was defeated," he begins, clearing his throat, shuffling uncomfortably in front of a podium. "The truth is, that it was all fate, a prediction that I was chosen to do it. And while I appreciate the thanks that everyone has given me over the years, it's thanks to _everyone, _everyone in this room, beyond this room, and those that gave great sacrifice, that he was. He wasn't alone, he wasn't just one man, he had followers. While I had friends. I would've failed without you all, some I'd like to take time to name."

A hush is over the crowd now, wondering who he will say. Eyes are on the back of my head, my face must be redder than it feels.

"The first person, who is the sole reason for allowing me understanding and gain the confidence to try and win….is Severus Snape." Everyone tenses. "For all his faults and his callousness, he convinced the Dark Lord he was on his side and got all the information that we needed to plan evasion for years. He loved my mother, Lily, and out of his adoration for her memory, he saved me countless times, and took great hatred from everyone to continue the guise he vowed to take. I should've trusted Dumbledore's words, Snape remains to be the bravest man I ever knew."

Now he's choking on his words, and it's _killing _Ginny. She's _sobbing.  
It's killing me._

When he continues talking about Dumbledore, then about Sirius, Remus….just _everyone, _I can't stop my tears and my burning face. Hargid had been off a lot to spend time with Madame Olympe, but he's here for this event. And his cries are the most audible, as he blows into a handkerchief. Now he's talking about the Weasley family, about his friendship with Ron….god, it's so tragic, so _beautiful._

"And Hermione….I couldn't have done _anything _without her."

I'm frozen.  
_Is this real? Is this actually happening?_

"She rescued Ron and I so many times I can't count them all. She stayed with me through everything, _all _the ups and downs….and gave up protecting her family for me…she's the smartest, most selfless person I think I'll ever meet. And I can't thank her enough, I'll never be able to express my gratitude enough."

Vivid green eyes are piercing mine, and everybody's got theirs on me now, but I couldn't care less. This is his apology, this is how he wants to make amends, in a totally _non-_Harry way. Showy, grandiose, and it's _not _less meaningful because it's in public. In doing this, I know he's trying to tell everyone else to leave me alone. (And maybe get Ginny back). Smiling at me, I return the gesture…

…When suddenly, his vision flickers away from me, his face goes slack at something behind me. And like clockwork, when I turn round, everyone follows.

At the entrance, it's Draco.  
_It's fucking Draco._

Looking proper, wearing a suit, now white as a ghost now everyone's attention is trained on him, he must've been hoping to slip in unnoticed. Maybe he's been standing there for ages.  
The intense happiness I've just experienced has been sucked away, now it's replaced with a heavy filling of dread that's dropped my stomach to my knees.

What transpires after this shock of being appreciated, and basically given a plea asking for forgiveness could ruin it. Because Harry is a mate, but he still _hates _Malfoy's guts, so what is he going to do? _Say nothing?  
Doubt it._

Shooting looks back to Harry, to see this twisted verdict, nothing would've prepared me for it when it comes.  
"Finally I'd like to thank one more person…someone who I should've given more credit for in the beginning. And that person is Narcissa Malfoy."

Nobody would be more surprised if Harry was transfigured into a frog. I chance a glance at Draco, and he's swallowing a lump in his throat, shaking like a madman.

"Voldemort had just tried to kill me. I was hit with Avada Kedavra…I was on the ground. And somehow…I wasn't dead. _But, _all the witnesses thought me to be. And he sent Narcissa over to me, check for a pulse. All she wanted in that moment was to know one thing." He clears his throat. "Was her son alive?"

A bit of a ripple runs through the crowd, but McGonagall raises her arm and it's quiet again.

"I told her he was, even though I couldn't know for sure. But she believed me, and she _lied. _She told him one word that might haunt me forever: "_Dead." _Like a fool, Voldemort trusted her, and they had Hagrid carry me to the courtyard, and while he was distracted, I managed to escape. The rest is history.  
"She saved my life in the end, and is one of the main reasons why I got away from danger and back to friends. See, even if she didn't like muggleborns, Narcissa - and I suspect she doesn't care about prejudice anymore - even if her husband was a Death Eater…what mattered most to her was her family. _All_ she wanted was to protect her family, and maybe staying on the bad side for so long was the only way she knew how to do it. And deep down, I think…maybe I have misjudged people so strongly in the past for doing what they did because I couldn't understand why they'd done it.  
"All this hatred that exists in the world is because we're people fighting other people we refuse to give a chance based on things we know of them, and if we can't let that go, we can't…move on, we'll never grow, never prosper. It's taken me far too long to realize that the message we must send in the future is to forgive, and while in defending what we think is right, we have to be open to those who are different."

Striding away from the podium, I have nothing intelligent in my head. There are claps, and murmurs, and confusion as to why _Draco Malfoy's _mother would ever do such a thing, but I couldn't give. Before I realize what I've done, I've stood up and ran to Harry, awkwardly navigating through the chairs, to engulf him in a hug. Everyone disappears for a moment, I forget they're even there as he's embracing me back, just whispering 'I'm so sorry,' in my ear.  
"_I was thinking about what today means, about you know, what we've been through. And I've been horrible. I've…I've been acting the way I would never want someone else to be. I was acting as bad as Malfoy _used _to be. And I'm sorry."_

Leaning back, I grin though my sight is blurred, and he immediately remembers where he is, blushing now. But I'm not embarrassed.  
He sits down, breathes deep, and sends me a message with his face that definitely reads 'go'.

Despite feeling intrusive to the order of things, I choose, instead of going to my seat, to the back of the room.  
His head is in his hands, he's whimpering. So I grab Draco, and we sink onto the floor, and I hold him until he stops.  
Which isn't until it's all over, thankfully soon after Harry has had his say. I think it's really shaken up the whole tone of everything. It was meant to be full of _pride, _and we're all upset instead.

So I watch as Draco's nestled into my neck, as Neville and friends pat Harry on the back to tell him his speech was good, I'm assuming. Luna is bounding towards me, Ginny reluctantly in tow as she gazes longingly behind her.

"That was very interesting," Luna comments in her usual tone. "Harry's speech was lovely."

"Are you alright?" Ginny asks, rolling her eyes secretly, reaching us and bending down to touch my knee. "_Draco, _are you okay?"  
I nod, and he removes his hand from my back to give her a weak thumbs up.

"_Fuck, _Harry's coming over. I'm glad that he said those things to you, I wish you luck in making up."

"_Where are you going?" _ I ask, astonished. I've never seen her quite so edgy.

"Running away before my resolve weakens. I've spent the whole damn morning crying, spent the last who knows how long crying. I'm sorry, but I hate this celebration, and I want it to end. Being nice to you doesn't mean shite, to be honest. It doesn't change what he's done. He loves you, right? This is inevitable. He hasn't apologized for being a complete arse to _him _yet," she points to a blond head. "And he has to grovel on his knees to me before I even look at him. So….see you later."

She flips that hair and bounces out, dragging Luna.  
Harry looks downtrodden that she's going away, but he comes up to me anyways, by himself, and most have a good sense to continue filing out of the hall and avoiding us like Black Death.

Before he opens his mouth, fumbling on his words, I say: "It's alright. I forgive you."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to Malfoy."

Bewildered, I feel Draco go stiff in my grasp, but I nudge him, and he removes himself from my neck, leaving it cold.  
Harry is about to speak but before something comes out: "Just shut up, Potter."

Our mouths are open, I think there's going to be an altercation, but instead Draco burst into more tears.  
"_Just – fuck you for making me cry. Fuck you for making me actually respect you a bit. Why say such nice things about my mother?"_

Sighing in relief, a muffle chuckled escapes my throat, while Harry's brows are shot up to his skull.  
"All I was going to tell you was that I want to give you a chance. You made an effort to show me you regret things, and just. I don't know, I don't know what to say."

"It was a nice speech, Potter," he says, and it's a dismissal.  
So he leaves.

"_I love you_. _I'm glad you sorted it out."  
_He's squeezing tight, pecking me on the cheek.

"_Have _you_ sorted it?" _I question, smoothing his hair down.

"_I hope so. I know I didn't turn up earlier, but I was just – _terrified," his voice drops, as if he'd only just realized.

"_I figured as much. It's not a nice day. Do you want to get out of here? Go for a walk? Before we have to get back in?"_

"_Yes."_

* * *

Sitting by the lake, I don't exactly comprehend what's just happened. One minute I'm wallowing in self-pity under a comforter, the next I'm daring to step foot with the non-Slytherins and getting an _almost _direct apology from The Golden Boy, himself.  
Literally, I couldn't handle it. It's as if my emotions have been shot to pieces and they're all mixing up and making me feel them intensely at random.

"You alright?" this gorgeous, fantastic woman beside me asks.

"_Fine. _Like, actually fine. Just feel weird, I guess. Like I could actually breathe. This whole time I've felt as if I've dove into the sea, gasping for air. And a few times I've been able to surface, but most of the time I've been under, drowning. And…I've reached the shore now."

"_I hope you can stay there," _she murmurs, draping her arms round me.

"Same."

I can't help it, I can't help tilting in to her and kissing her.  
Like fire our attraction just heats with one touch. I believe now that we've had a taste of each other it's impossible to stop. We've been at it all week. In the library, in the bloody bathroom. And now she's got her fingers on my neck, grazing my trousers, and it's just fucking magic.

It's intense the way our bodies seem to respond to each other, the way I can get her skirt off and she'll unzip my trousers and we melt into one another so easily as if we're one person.

"_I've never felt this way before," _I tell her, as she's moaning my name against my lips, filling her so deep as she gives me everything to make me feel like I'm a king, like she really cares for me. "_Fuck, you're amazing."_

"_I love you. Fuck, I'm so close -"  
_And she's digging her nails into my chest, screaming into my neck.

But she keeps going, grinding against me roughly as the sun goes down until I can't bloody take it.  
She gets up, still so wet, only to bend over me and finish me off. And swallow.

It's the most erotic thing that's ever been done to me, Pansy refused to do any of that sort of thing. My jaw must be unattractively slack.

How the bloody Christ did I go from a mess to bliss?  
"_I must be dreaming."_


	51. In Memoriam

**On the ground I lay,  
Motionless in pain,  
I can see my life flashing before my eyes.  
Did I fall asleep?  
Is this all a dream?  
Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare.  
- **_**Time of Dying, **_**Three Days Grace**

* * *

"I'm not going," I say. And I mean it. "There's no chance in hell."

We've been over this a thousand times, and she still won't bloody listen.  
I _was _dreaming when we sat by the lake, because that glimmer of hope I felt has been squashed by reality tenfold.

Tomorrow is a reminder that I was too much of a coward to seek help when I needed it, too blinded by pride and fear to try and fight on my own and kill a man when it was obvious from the start that I don't have the will. I would much rather smash my skull open with a rock than stand among people who are aware of this fact.

"Yes you _are. _Not showing up to pay your respects is terrible!"

She's been nagging me all week when I've made my choice. She's so angry, and her lips are quivering. But she'll never understand how this feels, she really can't know what it feels like to walk around guilty every waking second of every damn day, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain it.

"_Pay my respects? _For fuck's sake, Hermione, I never paid him respect when he _was _alive, it would be horribly ironic for me to attend even if I _wasn't _the one who was up there ready to kill him!"

"_Draco," _her face is shocked._ "_It's never too late to – "

"Hermione! I have already attempted and laid to rest the idea that I'm not worthless, isn't that enough to you? I don't deserve to go, I do not have any desire. I'm _NOT GOING."  
_The last thing I want to do right now is have petty arguments over going to Dumbledore's fucking memorial. So now I'm standing with a rigid posture, and she gazes at me with something in her eyes that she hasn't had since when we first met.

"Harry told me he hoped you'd turn up. I _want _you to turn up. Nobody is going to say anything, okay," she reaches to grab my hand, but it somehow doesn`t sway me at all. Like it should. "You told me you wanted to make it right, Harry's trying to make it right…."

"He's only doing it for your sake, not for his own," I retort calmly, dropping my fingers from hers.  
We're standing in front of the dungeons, and my escape is so close I actually have the morbid desire to push her away from me so I can just _leave._

"But his speech – he said – "

"He said he may have misjudged me, and not even _me _specifically, but everyone. It doesn't mean that he'll like me any more, and he's only given me a chance so you will forgive him, and so Ginny will forgive him, don't _tell _me it's selfless!"

"But can't you see _why _it's hard for him? Can't you understand why he doesn't like you? It's not as if he has no reason to!"  
Bitter inflection is laced in her tone, she must've been mulling over all my past discrepancies when it was time to recall all the reasons why we must never have a villain so vile present again. She must be scolding herself for sleeping with the enemy.

"Yeah, I _do _get it. And that's exactly why not showing my face to a mass of people who know what I've done is the right decision."

"They don't all know, though," she whispers, searching for something she won't find as she looks at me.

"Doesn't matter, some of them do. Why do you think they hate me? Why else do you think they've continuously bombarded me with hatred and forced it onto you? It's a waste of time trying to convince people."

Backing away, she gazes at me like I'm a stranger.  
"But I've been trying so hard….doesn't that mean anything to you? I don't like to be in a constant state of perpetual madness. Finally, it seems as if there is hope for us and you – you don't want to keep up the progress?"

"People still glare at me like I don't belong here, and I'm beginning to think they're right. Maybe they've stopped spitting insults at us, but that's only because Potter basically all told them off. When I'm alone it hurts. _All the time. _It's never ending, and I can't take it anymore, Hermione. When you leave my side I don't have anybody left, and it's unhealthy that I should want to never be apart."

"Why do you pretend you're going to be fine then?" her voice cracks, and she's holding me again. "Why didn't you tell me it was really so difficult?"  
And normally, now is when I would start to cry, and I would feel that love penetrate my heart, because I adore her to lengths I wouldn't be able to fathom. But I don't cry; instead it's almost painful, her grip like needles. This love is guilt.

So I nudge her away. And she's frowning.  
"When I'm with you, I'm so happy. Before coming here, I barely spoke, barely did anything. The relief you've given me is something indescribable. And yet still, after last week, I _shouldn't still feel this way. _I don't belong here, Hermione. I'm a little token of remembrance that the people on my side of the fence were the bad ones, and to everyone else how could I change my mind about blood and about morals when I only stopped as soon as the war was over?"

"The past is the past, Draco. If I can live and let live, others will do the same, the scars are still fresh, and as long as you continue to show remorse, and heal, things will be different. Patience is key."

_Patience?_  
As if not lashing out or kicking and punching everyone around me day in, day out isn't a testament to the fact that I'm keeping my head down, and emotions at bay.

"I told you I'll go through hell and back forever if I get to stay by your side, but I'm still not going tomorrow. That's my final word on it, and if you stand by what you just said, you will be patient and understand that I am not ready to face it."

"But – _just – _FUCK – " she hollers frustrated, throwing her arms up in the air like she wants to slap me.  
And when I flinch, dread is filling up my insides as she doesn't calm her expression. "Draco! Showing up to this service, even if it makes you cry, even if it kills you, will be cathartic to you! To hell with everyone else, to bloody hell with Harry or Ron! Showing up to be in the presence of him and saying sorry is going to be a closure you desperately need, don't you see that?"

"No."  
It's almost inaudible, because I'm feeling a brick crush my throat.  
Disbelieving, that's how she appears.

"Did last week mean nothing to you? Will you throw it all away because you're too frightened?"  
She's said the wrong words, she's made something inside of me snap, and I can't hold it back.

"YES!" I shout, "I'm a fucking coward, and I am scared! I'm scared of everyone like I'm scared of how I feel! I don't even like them, _I don't even like myself,_" my breath trails in a whisper, strangling from my throat.

"I'll help you! I will hold your hand, and I will be there for you, you _know _that! Don't you? Haven't I been there?"  
Broken, she's gazing at me as if she's a mother of a failed child.  
Now she's blaming herself, which has made my conscience dip lower past a point even _I _thought it couldn't reach.

"Yes, you have, and you've suffered so much because of me, and you're not meant to anymore. You're supposed to be happy! And I make your life miserable."

"No, you don't! _Draco- _"  
She sobs now, she attempts to yank my hand to hers again, and when I don't let her, she just falls into me. Slumping against my chest, her breath is heavy like mine, our uneven hearts beating out of time with one another.  
_"I am genuinely happy when I'm with you, but it would make me so much happier if you were better. Everyone will like you so much more if you didn't outwardly wear your guilt like a shield , hold so much anger in your head, or lash out when you can't hold it back. You know?…and I know it's difficult, which is why I'm trying to help, that's all." _

"If I was better? You talk to me like I'm sick, like this is something that's not going to take a long period. I. Don't. Like. People. You're intelligent, you should know I have trust issues. And if you face the facts, we lead two very different lives, and when you include me in yours, you're only bringing yourself down."

"_Don't you trust _me_?"_  
She's paused, leaning back to survey me, but I'm not looking at her; I can't.

* * *

"I trust you. I just don't trust myself."

He's not looking at me, and his voice is so hollow.  
What happened to the bright, interesting boy who was sweet, and told me all these nice things a few weeks ago?

This has to be harder than I know for him, because it's difficult enough for me. This isn't right. And everything is tumbling out before I am able to coherently think about what I'm saying.  
"You don't bring me down, I have my feet on solid ground. And _I _trust you, Draco, you have proved to me and earned it. You're hurting, and I just want to help, I'm not trying to belittle you or tell you this is make or break if you don't. I – I am hurting too. I have a hard time admitting when I am feeling down, but I - I _need _you. _I want you to come tomorrow for me too._"

"_Fuck _Hermione," he groans, finally wrapping his arms around me, hunching his shoulders and shaking. I feel his tears drip onto my forehead.

"If you really can't go…then don't. I don't want to push you too far, and try and make you come because I'd like you to, but I just thought I'd be honest. And tell you how I feel about it, I didn't mean to get so testy."

"_It's okay, it's okay," _ he soothes, smoothing down my hair, sighing. "I'll just have to see how I am in the morning, alright."

He's so drained, and all I can do is hug him. Pecking him on the chin, my stomach jumps when the tiniest of grins crosses his face for a millisecond.

"Don't feel selfish, don't feel bad for asking me to be there, okay? You being vulnerable is you being human, and so often I compare myself to you, and feel as if your perfection is too much for me."

"_Draco," _I groan, pressing my lips to his.  
He doesn't make much effort to respond back.

"I'll try to go, but I can't promise it," he murmurs.

"Okay."

"I'm going to go into the dorm, I have homework and things," he says, and though I don't believe him in the slightest, I nod.  
He's going to go in, then to his bed to lie down, and probably wallow in misery and contemplate the day until morning time. The circles round his eyes, and the way whenever does his hair is a dead giveaway. And I notice all these things because I care for him more than he probably wants to believe., and because seeing him like this hurts. But clearly he's not completely prepared to face all these facts so I'll pretend just for him, just for a while more, that he has me fooled.

"It's at 10 am, if you remember…if you want to go, I'll meet you by the entrance at 9:45. Yeah?"

"Yeah. Good night," he tells me, kissing me on the mouth.

"Night."

"I love you."

"I love you too."  
He smirks finally.  
His smirk reserved for me. And it's a bit hard to tell the difference between his amused one and his loving one, but I've come to recognize it in a snap.

And though it ends on a positive note, as he's sauntering away and muttering the ironic words "Forever the purest" to the entrance wall, tomorrow's going to be the worst. I'm right.

Immediately, after I wake up from a less than stellar sleep, this veil of gloom is pervasive. It reaches every corner of the common room, the bedrooms, the corridors, into the whole soul of Hogwarts. Putting on my black dress, not my robes, I have no drive or will to curl my hair properly, to put on makeup so I look nice, so I look like I care. And I do, but I hardly think my appearance has to prove it. But the effort is made regardless, applying mascara to my lashes, blush to my pale cheeks, next to other girls in the bathroom, who share the same desolate face, the same empty stare.

Something worse is constricting my heart, something awful that I'm not able to name.

I enter the Great Hall, looking nice for somebody who's dead; somebody who wouldn't have cared what I look like. I can't help but be bitter and feel as if it's more so there's a façade of having order and togetherness.  
Why is it that whenever there is a tragedy to remember, we have to appear pristine and beautiful, as if _tragedy _itself is beautiful? As if we're not supposed be sobbing messes when somebody we looked up to has passed.

And I can barely bring myself to eat; Harry is nowhere to be seen, nor Ron.  
Trying to go over Potions notes for next week all I can think about is Draco, or Dumbledore, and how Harry feels. The words mangle into indistinguishable lines, only morose ones pop. 'Can cause death', 'extremely toxic.' Even my diversion, my usual comfort isn't working.  
Everything that once brought me light is in distress or doesn't work.

Time goes by slow, so slow I can barely feel it pass as the dread pools deeper and deeper into my stomach, tightening until the sensation is constant.  
Finally, somebody calls my name, and it's a distraction.

"How are you holding up? You left really early from the room," a pair of arms are wrapping around me. "God, you look dreadful."

It's Ginny, and she's nestling her head into the crook of my neck, sleepily.  
"I feel even worse," I murmur, putting my head down on my arms, happy she's here. "Your dress is nice."

When she goes to sit down, though her fashion sense is good, I notice the red rims and black circles, wondering if it's from Harry or from today, or everything combined.

"Thanks…it's Fleur's. This is going to be horrible, isn't it? Luna thinks it's sweet."

_Sweet. _  
Of course, trekking across the Black Lake on an island to visit a tomb is _really_ sweet. Lining up and standing in a crowd of people to hear one more fucking memorial service, perhaps a renewed eulogy, is _really _what I so desire right now to do.  
It's times like these I notice how Draco's sarcasm has bled into my speech and thoughts, and hate how it only comes out when I'm angry.

"It's ridiculous. It would be much better if we could all pay our respects when we are comfortable, it would be more meaningful if we could visit his grave alone."

"Yeah, well, it's blocked normally by magic, isn't it? Can't really do that, can we?" she says, rubbing her eyes with her hands, pouring coffee into a giant mug.

"I guess not. It's just so…..clinical. This whole process. Let's amass for a few minutes and say something pretty and nice-sounding on the only day we _must."_

"_Hermione…"_ I guess I sound crosser than I meant to. "What's wrong? You weren't like this last week, I thought you might think _that_ particular occasion more appropriate for a hate-speech. Glorifying war over celebrating a life?"

I sigh deeply.  
"_Sorry_. It's Draco….he's not sure if he's going or not. And I got upset. I asked him to go for me, but mostly he should go for himself. Get some kind of closure. You know? And I feel even worse because it's overshadowing the sadness towards Dumbledore, and that just elevates how pissed off I am at myself."

"Oh, don't feel worse. I'd be pissed too. Though, I sort of understand where he's coming from."

I'm about to smack myself from this dream I _surely _must be having where my best friend is on a Malfoy's side, but her stare is so sincere my hands freeze.

"I'm serious, though. Remember his pensieve memories? It's just going to be one bombardment of bad flashbacks if he goes, combined with the paranoia that everyone hates him for showing up. And most of them will. Hell, think about what he almost was capable of. He almost killed _Ron,_" she whispers harshly. "He cursed Katie Bell…and didn't he Imperius Madam Rosmerta?"

"I was thinking of that as well, I almost yelled at him yesterday…." And suddenly, the waves are too much, the pool is flooded. "Fuck, _what am I doing? _Why do I like him? Why do I love him?"

"_Hermione -"_  
Her eyes are bright, wide with concern.

"No, seriously. _Why? _Because he's so sweet to me? Because he's _sorry? _Just – I – I think I blocked _everything _from my memory about what he's done, and when he showed that he wasn't terrible anymore I justified myself in finding him attractive."

"Hermione…he's clearly in love with you," she states with disbelief. "Practically worships the ground you walk on. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you are helping him be a better person." Now she leans in closer, snatches my hand into hers. "If he was dependent on alcohol last year, he was trying to get away from everything too. If he didn't have any remorse, he would've moved on without a blink, he'd still be the same old Malfoy we used to loathe…._Right?_"

"I don't know…I don't know, I just – I told him I trust him, and now I don't know if that's true anymore. Why did I do that, why did I – _auuuuh!_"  
And now I'm weeping again. Now I'm seriously questioning everything that I have convinced myself was forgivable in the past few months. Because of this one, bloody occasion. Because he made _too _many mistakes that are unforgivable.

"Because you _love_ him, Hermione. It's obvious. It's not something you can control all the time. Maybe you always had an underlying attraction to him, but it wasn't until this year you could let it surface. It's like me and Harry…or – " she pauses, inhaling deeply , settling herself as her chest heaves. "It _was_ like that. You know, I still really liked him so damn much when I distanced myself. I dated anyways like you said to do, and it felt nice…but _nothing _like when we got together. Like it was inevitable…meant to be."

"Ginny…"  
She's sniffing hard, trying to fight back her sadness as she always does. Gripping vice-like, as if she's using my warmth and bones to strengthen herself.

"Does it feel like that to you? Like you never want to let go? Didn't you say that during the performance? Because it should be an instantaneous feeling, it shouldn't be something you have to think about. And if you _do, _maybe you should reconsider all this before you get in deeper."

"I- "  
His voice is there in my head, ringing through my ears as Ginny's echoes out.

'_I'm pretty sure I _know _I love you.'_

"Look, I dated Dean for 5 months, and it was never like that. And most of the time he was a real gentleman, class A until he got too jealous and clingy. Even Michael was pretty cool. But they didn't give me that fiery sense of passion, you know?"

'_I know in my heart that none of this is fake, it's not forced or being pressured. It's just there. And it makes me feel so good, I can't even put it into words.'_

"You just have to decide whether or not this barrier is going to be there forever if you can let him tear it down brick by brick, cause it seems like he wants to."

'_I love you, probably too much, that it does my head in. Everything you show me I feel so intensely, when you're happy, I'm elated, and when you're sad I want to cry. We always end up on the same wavelength though, and I just – god, I never want to let you go.'_

I really don't know how to feel right now.  
We've been through so much but this divide has really caused me distress beyond the point I understand. For an entire year fighting Voldemort, and Harry, were my world because I vowed to him, to Dumbledore, and for the sake of everybody like me who had to suffer being a mudblood that I would avenge them.

Dumbledore had faults like everyone, and maybe he used us all a bit like puppets. But he _did _do something for the 'greater good' that actually _was _good, with a plan that would work, and sacrificed himself so Snape could help us win. Meanwhile trying to get Draco to come over for help instead of outright letting the opportunity for his family to die happen by revealing that he knew of the plan. This day is a testament to all his efforts.  
And yet…maybe it's not a contradiction to his efforts or my own sentiments that this day is a day I would like to not spend it alone. I'm not betraying him by wanting to be with Draco, am I? To join the Slytherins and Gryffindors, the so-called 'bad' and 'good'… Dumbledore would've wanted this right?

He would have been able to forgive Draco, he would have given him the chance to redeem himself. He couldn't forgive Grindelwald because Grindelwald wanted to kill.  
Draco is _not _a bad person anymore_. _

Can I let all this be swept under the rug?

"It's 9:30…fuck, Luna's not here. She probably skipped out to go early….I'd rather now in case Harry comes in late, does that make me a bad person?"

"No…it's just going to make this experience poorer if you're more upset by his presence, or by the simplest eye-contact, right? I just told Draco to meet me by the entrance, and I haven't had the courage to go wait. I didn't really think Harry nor Ron were going to show up, but I was still holding out."

We're talking but I'm not there.  
My mind is racing a mile a minute, and before I really anticipate what the hell I am doing, Ginny has dragged me to the doors that shoot up a hundred feet, telling me to wait here and watch the time some more.

With my gaze to the floor I'm a mixture of relieved and _extremely _surprised when somebody is pulling my chin up with a gentle pull. And the person has blond head and a distraught face, blue eyes bloodshot, lines furrowed across his face; dishevelled in a dapper suit, an oxymoron.

"_You came."_

A whisper.

"I had to," he says.  
And that's all I need when it's a genuine sentiment, cracked in fragments like he can barely speak from grief.

Somebody in Ravenclaw passes us, sneering at him like Draco used to at everyone else, leaving him in a cloud of hesitation, as he's now locked with the tiles on the stone floor, as she leaves with her group.

"What are _you _doing out here, _Malfoy?_ Don't even think about going out there._"_  
It's Justin Finch-Fletchley.  
With Hannah Abbott on his arm, he shoves Draco so he falls into me, and I'd love to say something back, but as my mouth is hanging open, Draco just shakes his head. He embraces me halfheartedly before staring out into the crack of sunlight as the door slams shut._  
_Saying nothing, I take it as an affirmation that he's set to leave, waiting for the hall to be cleared from others so we can travel down to the lake solitary.

Exiting to the outside, it's warm out here. There's a heavy breeze, and I watch as Draco's coat ripples from the speed, as little wisps of his hair dance around his forehead. He doesn't make to adjust himself, he only strides with a gait of man who is strong; like the only way he's going to be able to make it to our destination is if he propels himself with as much force as he can.

But as we make it so close, as we make it to the docks that are ready to take us to the White Tomb, where Dumbledore rests, he falters, suddenly standing pin-straight in front as he notices Professor Slughorn getting into a boat with Theodore Nott.

"_It's going to be fine," _I tell him, rubbing his shoulder. "_You're here, you've almost made it."_

And then he says the worst words he could've:  
"_I can't do it."_

His voice is so dead, so forlorn, I am not willing to argue.

"_Do you want me to stay here with you?"  
_I realize as I say it that that's all I want to do.

But he says to me: "_No, I'd rather be alone. I'll stay by the shore."_

"_Draco – "_

"_I'll wait by the shore, you go."_

So I do, and I kiss him goodbye on the cheek. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move.  
Creaking dock boards are unsteady under my trembling feet as I hop into the ferry, and enchant it myself, not wanting to wait for anybody else. I watch his figure fade into nothing but a blurred outline, never moving from his position by a willow tree. Sitting in the seat of the stern, I don't notice when I get to the coast of the island.

Getting up to stand on the murky edge, I stumble in the mud. But a savior appears from nowhere and grabs my arm before I fall over. Neville.

"Thanks," I say, wondering why he even bothered.

"It's no problem," he insists, and I believe him.

Everything adjusts and twists into some strange dream world all of a sudden. My vision and my head is hazy and dazed. Out of body as I walk to the centre, forcing myself past the bodies crowding this tiny space, someone's suddenly holding my hand.  
Harry.

Squeezing it tightly, next thing I know, there's another person on the other side.  
Ron.

Ron, who sees me falter, my expression surely shocked.  
"_I know we're not on good terms, but…I thought maybe you wouldn't want to be here alone_," he murmurs into my ear.

And that's it. No mention of Draco's absence, completely humbled tone; maybe ashamed he's been so unmoving lately. And I can't really say anything back; out of fear, out of surprise, I don't know. But I let him grip my fingers, let us pretend for one moment everything hasn't changed.

"_I'm glad you're here," _Harry then admits, pulling me a tad closer for privacy. And then exhaling, like he can't hold it in: "_Where's Malfoy?"_

"_He almost made it…couldn't cross the lake. I walked with him here. He's standing by the willow tree."  
_Turning around, searching through the gathering, his eyebrows scrunch, and he frowns.

"No….Hermione, he's – he's not."

I whip my head back, terror suddenly swallowing me whole; he's _not _there.

"_But he was just – "_

"_You can work it out later, he probably ran scared."_

"_But –"_

"_Shh, it'll be alright."_

This false normalcy and nostalgia of when we used to be close friends overwhelms me. I don't get to look around, people block my view from being able to see past my immediate vision. McGonagall had stepped up to speak in front of an already hushed crowd.

I can barely hear anything, I can only focus on the carved marble casket that's been risen, that's been draped in garlands of roses, lilies, and daisies.  
Some melancholy speech begins, riddled with all the clichés, sounding much similar to the original eulogy as we first heard it two years ago. And while I think that it's better to have a memorial that is toned in sadness instead of trying to lighten the mood, the only reaction everyone is having is to cry.

Having Harry next to me makes the sorrow so much more intense; he was closest to him out of everyone here, besides the teachers. Now I can only recall explaining to him that portraits only capture an essence of a person, and it's not their soul, not their true and whole being like he had initially thought. You can talk to them, and they can respond but no new thoughts can be brought out of them, they are pre-destined. He was crushed, he was awash in despair for weeks that Dumbledore was _truly_ gone.  
The look on his face when he was informed of that news flashes behind my closed eyelids in the blackness. They always say ignorance is bliss, and I think I'm beginning to agree. I regret ever telling him that.

My arms become numb as a choir of phoenixes croon a mourning song. Harry is sobbing quietly with his head hung low, I glance to the side and Ron has tears streaming down his cheeks.

Suddenly, it's all over, nobody wanted to say anything more, nobody could because they were all bawling.

There's a moment of tense silence, and then we are told if we'd like to say a few words, to do so in the next twenty minutes. There's nothing I want to say, nothing that I _could_ say, but I let Harry go forth and wait among the throng of students leaving.

"_I'll see you inside, thanks for staying with him. You three standing together….it's like old times."  
_Ginny leans in to me, clutching me briefly before sniffing and walking to the boats with Luna. Ron is gazing at me with an unsure look, flickering to his sister ensuring she crosses the water safely.

Harry is still, muttering words, trailing his hand over the epitaph. But I resolve to wait for him, as does Ron. I am starting to be uncomfortable what with how at heads we've been, until he decides to swallow his pride and step over to me: "_Are we okay?"_

"_I don't know," _ I reply honestly. "_I want to be friends, but you have to try and get along."_

He nods, and I can only fidget until my friend walks back over.  
"_Thanks, Hermione."_

Everything seems ok with us now as Harry saunters back over, ready to leave. I have the ball in my court.  
Bittersweet.

Settling to get carried back to the mainland, my nerves I had hidden for a few moments come tumbling onto the centre stage. Harry and Ron call my name as I can barely get steady on the rocks and sand. I don't listen, I don't register anything. Frantically, I'm scanning the grounds for a trace of him, for blonde hair or a distraught tall frame.

Nothing.

He's not standing by the forest, he's not at the entrance, he's not inside. My step is heavy, my feet and legs weigh a million pounds as I dart into the Great Hall, sprinting through corridors, past the lavatories, past the library, searching _everywhere.  
_I need to find him._  
_"_Hermione, what's wrong?"_

Ron's obvious questions blaze past me, and I can't answer them. I don't know why they're both following me, I don't know why I want to be alone right now. But I do.

Before I know it, I've rushed all the way to a spiral staircase that is the last place I know anyone should want to be.

"_Hermione – "_

Still tailing me, blood is pumping through my veins as I reach the top.  
I need to find him.

"_Hermione, wait – " _

"Harry, _please!"  
_I spin around after we've reached the top tiers of the Astronomy Tower. I thought he might be here, he seems to like to take the worst course of action in dire straits.

"We just want to help you."  
Sincerely Harry tells me this, swallowing hard this pill of a location, surely bringing back terrible memories as he shakes lightly.

"If you want to help me, then go look for Draco. If you want to keep me calm that's all you can do. I'm going on my own, if you find him, send him to the library; section B. Half an hour."

Crossing my arms, I can see they're reluctant to help me. But they agree.  
"We'll find him."

The phrase rings in my ear as I rush back down again, and it spurs me on afresh to go looking. The only place I can think of to go might get me in immense trouble, but I don't care.  
I need to find him.

A stone brick wall faces me, I'm alone here, thank god.  
And the words strangle up my windpipe; "_Forever the purest."_

It dissolves, and my will falters for a split second until I force myself into the mouths of the snakes, I just hope they're not feeling so venomous today.

"What are you doing in here?"  
A little second year in her Slytherin uniform is inquiring about my entrance, confused and thankfully not hostile.

"I – "

"_Hermione?"  
_Right behind me, it's Theodore Nott's voice. _Dammit I'm cornered._  
He's standing next to Millicent, whose expression suggests she isn't pleased to see me as I turn around to face them.

I cave before I can muster up any confidence, it's obvious why I'm hanging out in the dungeons: "Is Draco upstairs? Have you seen him?"

"No…we didn't see him come back from the memorial, and I was just up there. I didn't see him at all today, actually…"

"Well, maybe he was hiding from you, he came down with me, he didn't come to the island he was supposed to wait across from me, look I should double check."

Panic. _Panic._

"_You can't go up there!"_  
I don't care, I don't – fuck. _Fuck.  
_Searching for a dorm room, somebody is running after me. But I'm incensed, I'm quicker.  
_Seventh Year Boys, _reads a silver plaque.

Barging in, there _isn't _anyone in here. There's nobody. _No one.  
_Crumpling to the floor, there's a tentative hand on my shoulder.

"Hermione, I wasn't lying. He's not here. You better go before word gets back to the headmistress. Okay?"

It's Theodore. And he's right.  
I need to find him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry – I just – "

"It's alright, _just go_."

So I do.

But I _don't_ find him.  
Harry and Ron don't find him.

Three hours later and we're in the Headmaster's office, while McGonagall has sent all the teachers out looking for him. And I can't stop crying. I'm so worried, and it's only making me feel worse that it's on _this _day. Where everybody else is as downtrodden as I am.

This is the worst day ever.

* * *

"_Help me."_

I must have yelled it a hundred times but now it's just a croak.  
I'm going to die, I can feel it.

"_Please...please help me."_

Actually, I _can't_ feel it. I can't feel anything…my whole body is stunned as another spider crawls over my stomach and launches itself into my flesh, another dagger piercing me. Not even sure how I got here, not sure why I chose this place.

There's just venom coursing through my veins, reacting badly with my blood; my blood is poison, you think I'd survive, you'd think it would make me indestructible.

I just remember her taking _their_ hands, acting how they used to be when I was just another asshole in their private, oh-so-secret lives. Across the lake, standing together remembering a person who they cared about, who liked them. And I tried to kill him. I deserve this.

Why did I get involved, why did I let myself fall in love, why _her_?  
I've ruined her; I deserve this.

Why is she so good to me when I have done nothing good?  
I deserve to die.

"_AUUUUGH!"_

_FUCK.  
_A searing pain in my head, it's bitten me again, something bit me on the scalp. Their legs are swarming over me, their beady eyes stare at me waiting for me to move, but I can't.

I ran.  
And I ran too far. Away from everything that matters and everything I want.

The last thing I see is the tops of the trees, in the Forbidden Forest. How fitting I should fade away alone and in a painful way.  
Then I close my eyes for what's going to be the last time. And it's black; _so _black.


	52. Alive

**Author's Note: Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and that you're looking forward to 2014! I really appreciate the messages some of you have been sending, and I can tell you I am doing okay, it's just difficult sometimes. By the way, I would **_**never **_**kill Draco, guys! Just a bit of suspense for you. And a bit more in store for you now.**

**{}**

_**I've never felt so alive, like I feel right now in this moment,  
I've never felt so alive, like I feel right here standing next to you,  
Heaven's heard me calling, the stars have all aligned,  
Your touch is so electric, and looking in your eyes; I've never felt so alive.**_

_**It's so surreal, the way you feel.**_  
_**How fast my heart is beating, and we're breathing together now.**_  
_**As we float out above the clouds, I swear I'll never let you down.**_  
**_- Aliv_e****, Good Charlotte**

* * *

"Given the circumstances, Mister Malfoy, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to send you home."

Stern words ring out against a worried, lined faced. Against a face that has never looked at _me_ that way.  
If I wasn't so drugged up, I probably would've started bawling by now, or maybe laughed, but I'm so numb and disbelieving, and unsure of how I even got in this chair, this uncomfortable, rickety chair, that I just don't react.

I thought it might come to this, but I don't think I could ever have prepared myself.  
This is the final solution; get rid of the angry pureblood so Hogwarts can function properly.

And the worst part? That it's the right decision.

Maybe now Hermione can be happy without me.  
I'll be miserable.

Hand cupping her chin, fingers fiddling with a quill, McGonagall taps the parchment of my 'release form', a title I can barely read from a foot away. Hope was drained from my veins long ago, but now I think I'm completely sucked dry, just floating around now unsure if I'm alive anymore. Coming out into the light has made me see how entrenched in myself and in darkness I was last year. And now I have to retreat back to that place, and pretend like I'll be able to recover again.

"Don't you have anything to say? No protest, no resentment?"

"It's not going to change anything, is it? You'll ship me off regardless." My tone is far more defeated than I would've liked it to sound.

"Yes, I will. But you don't seem slightest bit upset as to why we reached that decision. Why you're being robbed of being here."  
Surely McGonagall has free authority on whether or not to decide if I belong here.  
So why does she look so concerned? She's getting rid of the student plaguing the rest, just cutting out the disease from the rest of the healthy bodies.

"Certainly, I am…..what do you mean by _we, _Professor_?"_

"If you are, you aren't showing it. It' fairly concerning, frankly. And I contacted your mother when you were recovering; we discussed your options."

_WHAT?_

"You look surprised," she tells me, tilting her head slightly. "_Draco_… you do not seem to realize the severity of your actions. Protocol suggests that we should have alerted St. Mungo's immediately after finding you in the Forbidden Forest. Professor Slughorn advised that I talk to your family first, so I agreed. And she told me that it would be best to take you home, that you don't take well to strangers, and that you have a special hatred for _ahem _institutions. She's coming to pick you up at the end of this week's classes."

The room around me is suddenly hazy. This doesn't sound like expulsion, this isn't how I thought this was going to pan out. This is much graver.

When I go home, all the progress I made will fade away, I'm sure of it.  
And I won't ever get to see her.

"No….I don't think I understand. Why would you call St. Mungo's? Madam Pomfrey extracted the spider venom just fine. I'm alive, aren't I?"

Slowly removing her glasses from the bridge of her nose, she sighs, placing them delicately on the oak desk, and leaning forwards in her massive chair. Very firmly, she says;  
"Mister Malfoy, when a student attempts to commit suicide, we never assume the child is okay after recovery."

"_Suicide?" _My stomach is ice-cold, it spreads to all my extremities, until the full comprehension of what everyone thinks transpired dawns on me. "Is that what you think happened?"

"Frankly, you would have a difficult time convincing me it wasn't. Somebody should have come and discussed Dumbledore's memorial with you, about the significance and difference from the rest of the students its occurrence would have made you feel. But Professor Slughorn and I thought perhaps you could make your own decisions on whether or not you felt fit to come, and I assumed that, being Head Boy, he would have spoken to you more often than say three times all semester," she utters, shaking her head, very annoyed. "So for that, I formally apologize."

"Whatever, I don't care about that. Just why do you think I'd _kill _myself?"

_You wanted to end it.  
_For fuck's sake, my mind hasn't regressed into a borderline schizophrenic in a long time. I _can't_ let her see me like this, I push my thumbs to my temples and stem the flow for only a moment.

Calming my body that's gone so frantic, nothing else talks back within me as I release my head and look back up.

She's taken aback, usually I'm _oh _so polite. Formal, perhaps.  
"Miss Granger informed me you walked with her to the lake but decided last minute to stay on the shore. Then, when the ceremony was over, she came back and you were gone. Mister Potter informed me that she was frantic. She searched everywhere for you for over an hour before contacting me. Why on earth would you run into the forest of all places? And why at all? I assume it's because of the emotional distress of remembering the night, but somehow it must be more than that. You ran directly into the colony of acromantulas, that's very deep into the woods. They'd almost begun to try and….and _feast _on you before we found you," she whispers, shuddering at the thought.

"I ran because I… _I was scared_."

I can't tell this fucking woman anything, least of all my internal thoughts. I don't want to _die, _I just want my past to.  
Nothing more is going to get elaborated. Not this time.

"Of what, exactly?"

"Facing the truth."

Adjusting in the chair, she exhales lightly, then stares at me intently.  
"I think you already have. It is of my opinion that it's _dealing _with the relationships around you and your own demons that have truly, shall I say, _messed _with your sanity. I thought you could return here with everyone else this year. I thought extending the opportunity would help the healing process, and show your peers that second chances might prove to be a good thing. But I think that was a false mistake on my part. Post-traumatic Stress Disorder must be a lot more difficult to deal with given who your father is, and which side of the war you were forced to be on. You are no longer the person you were before all this disaster happened, but you also fail to be the best version of yourself. Even with Miss Granger's help, it's not enough. You need professional help, and I cannot force you to get it. But I _can_ make you leave to be under constant care, at home. "

_You're going to break if you leave._

I can't go home.

_Well you have to now, don't you? What then?_

I can't leave._  
Fuck – fuck – FUCK._

My head is screaming, throwing voices of insanity to break my rationality.  
"_But – _Headmistress, Professor- I was miserable at home!" Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm standing up, drawing myself to full height against her, while she remains to be seated and collected. "All I did was drink. All I did was _nothing. _Coming here _forced _me to be clean, forced me to be understand what is wrong with me and act accordingly. _Please don't make me go."_

"I'm afraid the decision is final."

"But two days isn't enough to leave!" Her resolve is strong, but she's flinching as my fists curl around the edge of her bureau, face directly in front of hers. "I don't – what's going to happen to me? How am I supposed to graduate?"

"We can arrange to deliver your coursework, and you can make up for practical exams or tests with extra assignments. You've made it through a good deal of the year, you'll be able to continue the rest of your education."

"_Professor, please – "_ I break then, unable to choke anything further from my throat.

"Dinner is beginning soon. You can go down to the hall now, I will escort you."

Her manner of speaking suggests that this is her verdict, last word on the matter. Thumbing the rigid scar that runs along the top of my scalp to the base of my nape, I inhale deeply.  
And realize that maybe I _am _an endangerment to myself. Maybe I _should_ go for me, and not for anyone else.

So I tell her: "Alright, let's go."

The seat's legs creak across the stone floor as she get up, her robes shuffle away against her frame when she glides to the exit. My feet feel hollow, lightly treading down the spiraled steps to follow her, to walk to a destination I feel I have no business being in.. My head is pounding, and I'm sweating profusely from stress, or the potion, maybe both. My school robes aren't even on, I'm wearing something I brought from home It's as if I've already began the process of being shut out from this place.

"Trust me, Mister Malfoy," she says after a long bout of silence except for our movement, "this is for your own good, and for your best interest. You've already made some progress, if you can finish it as a new man, you will feel worlds better."

Maybe._  
Doubt it, _that niggling voice is mocking._  
_And I just want to scream aloud 'Shut the fuck up!'

"Are you alright to go in alone, or should I – "

"_No, no _– I'm ok. Really."  
We've made it to the hall, and it doesn't really matter if I'm fine or not, because _nothing_ really matters anymore. I wave her away before she notices me struggling with _myself _in my own head.  
I'm fucking nuts.  
It's over.

"I'll be sending Professor Slughorn to check in with you periodically."

And that's my dismissal, my grand finale to this life-changing conversation.

So I barrel on through those fucking oak doors, paying no heed to the assholes who speculate on what happened to me, that whisper as I march past, ears buzzing with snippets of conversations I don't care to repeat.

Nobody at the Slytherin table acknowledges my existence, a stark contrast from the people gaping at me, probably wondering whether or not I'm going to explode with rage, or grab a razor and slit my wrists, something morbid and dramatic.  
the last thing I want to do is shovel food into my stomach, and though there lingers a bottle of whiskey in my desk-side table, I refuse to resort to old habits. The ;last thing I want to do is turn into who I used to be.

But damn, the urge is strong.

Sitting here, I've never felt more alone in my life until _she _comes alone and surprises me by sitting next to me as silently as a slinking cat. Only, she's not sympathetic or affectionate; she looks livid.  
And the spark of fire I felt noticing her, the flicker of joy, diminishes at the frown on her face. Not even staring directly at me, her gaze is straight-ahead, as if she can't even bear to be around me.

"_Why would you do that_?" she whispers, after a tense, unbearable pause.

I don't respond. I'm not sure how.

"_Draco, talk to me. I'm really mad at you."_

Swallowing hard, my fingers are trembling, I can feel the tears well up, and my lips are still paralyzed because I have to tell her I'm leaving, and now I'm almost certain she won't even care.

"_I searched everywhere for you for hours. You should've waited for me. To find that you ran off into the forest….I thought when they brought you in you were dead for sure. You didn't wake up for days."_

I'm raw from holding back my tears, I want to choke, I want to curl up and wither away so I never have to hear such painful anguish in somebody's voice again. Somebody I care about so much that it physically _hurts _to even think about not being able to talk to her on a regular basis. To be able to hold her, or touch her, or _look at her. _And I so desire to sprawl onto the floor in a heap like I know I will later tonight alone, and to tell her I love her, that I'm going to be empty without her, but I have to explain to her what she wants, what she _deserves._

"I saw you," I somehow manage to spit out. "I saw you with your friends, holding their hands. You belonged there, where I wouldn't. And I realized that I don't fit into your equation."

"My…._equation?" _she asks, almost deadly silent.

"The one where you live care-free without any conflict, the way you were meant to, and the way you earned it to be. Not with me, whose family has done unspeakable damage to everyone you care about, where you'd live in exile because _I _am an outcast."

"_Draco…._I thought I made it clear that I _chose_ to be with you. Didn't you know that?"

"Of course, but - I was so happy you did when you told Potter off, but I…I'm just wondering if I'm the right choice and– " I fail to continue, unsure of where I could go with this, feeling more foolish by the second.

"If you trust me, then you should my judgement. Right? So then why would that compel you to hurt yourself…..to _kill _yourself?" she stutters, finally whipping her head towards me, burning me with the look in her eyes. "It can't have just been that, you can't be that – you can't care about me that much that – "

And she too is stuck on the very true, very real truth she wouldn't wrap her head around because she's too modest, she's unable to see how much she means to me.

"I _do _care about you that much, Hermione," and her mouth is threatening to twitch to a sad frown. "Didn't want to kill myself, I just felt…..dead inside. And I ran away because I got this overwhelming feeling of…..of inescapable, and inexplicable loneliness. Of raging guilt for what I have done. Look, _Hermione _– " I plead, grabbing her hand gently. She flinches, but doesn't push me off. "I don't entirely know what was happening in my head then. All I know is that I so desperately wanted to be the one to be able to commiserate with you, and to comfort you. And I don't know if I ever will get to be that person."

I was longing for her to wrap her arms around me. Instead, she rolls her eyes and ticks so frustrated, I surely have to appear the smallest I've ever been.  
"You know Draco? I know what the problem is. It's impossible for me to love you because you hate yourself."

"_Impossible?_" Fuck this, fuck my gravelly voice, the stupid waterworks that are now relentless and unyielding. Her words stab through me like a flesh wound. She _has _to understand. "I'm trying so hard – I- I just love you so much. But you've sacrificed so much more than I have, you're putting so much into this to make me feel better and it was everything to me."

Suddenly, she's still, her grip goes cold.  
"W-what do you mean, _was_?"

"I'm going home in two days."  
Like an anchor that drops out of my mouth, and it plummets the conversation to worse than terrible to a depth I can't even phrase properly.

"_H-home_?"  
For the first time, her composure almost slips fully.

"I'm unstable, Hermione. I keep hearing these voice in my head telling me I'm going to fail again when I leave. McGonagall and my mother agreed that I _have_ to leave. They were going to ship me off to the looney bin, but….guess I got 'lucky.'" I attempt to smirk at her to lighten this dismal mood, but her eyebrows knit, she's not amused at all. "Maybe it's for the best. You can patch things up and be happy again. They were right when they said I needed help."

"Draco, _when will you get it_?" she practically shouts, glaring at people who choose that moment to glance over. She turns back to me: "_You_ make me happy, by being yourself. I decided on you. I don't want to go talking to other people and then walk around feeling thrilled and then sad, or empty. I like the smell of your hair, and I like the sound of your voice, and I – I decided on you. You've changed. That's why I've been fighting for us. That's why Harry finally got it and said something, and maybe it was bad timing, maybe these past few weeks have been terrible, but it was going to get better. Until you realize that you're not a burden, you won't convince anyone else. I love you, but…. If leaving's going to help you realize everything….. god_,_ _I still don't want you to go_."  
And she wraps her arms around me.

I'm so dazed by this, I don't know what I'm going to do when I leave or what to do now.  
"I don't want to leave you either. Everything about you….is _perfect. Perfect for me, anyways._"

"_What does this mean for us? For everything. You were doing so well, and, and now- _"

"_Just- _shhh," I put a finger to her lips, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her is something I'm having trouble not succumbing to. Instead, I yank her into my neck, needing her closer than I ever have. "I'll be fine. I'm just going to be lonely. _Really lonely_."

"_Oh – Draco - " _she squeezes me, and with a rush of affection, I wish were by ourselves.

"_I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry I put you through that."_

"_Just _don't_ do it ever again," _she murmurs pulling away to snog me.  
It's so passionate, so needing, I forget my worries for a moment, which then fuels my anger for this situation. This is why I need her around, this is why I'm so annoyed at myself, because she's a fucking godsend and I feel endlessly incompetent. But she's here anyways, she wants me too. Doesn't she?

"_I promise I won't. Do you still want me, even after I leave? I'll wait for you. I'll wait for you, forever."_

"_I want you," _she sighs into my ear, _"God, Draco, you really scared me. How are you going to make it without me, no, how am I going to make it without you?"_

"_It's 5 months. I'll make it."  
_Fuck, that's _so_ long.  
I'm not going to make it.

"_I'll visit you whenever I can."_

"_Like every weekend?"_

She giggles finally, an angelic sound, holding me tighter. "If I can get that permission….you know I would do it."

"_I'm going to be lost without you."_

"_You'll find your way."  
_And the way she gazes at me, the way she is sincere, I actually believe her.

"_Do you want to go somewhere that's not here? I want to spend my last moments with you, I don't give a fuck about anything else."_

For a moment she hesitates, fiddling with the pendant necklace round her throat , before nodding fervently and seizing me and dragging me away.

* * *

_He's leaving, he's leaving, he's _leaving.  
Having somebody I love almost perish because he was so _frightened_ made me throw all my qualms out the window about choosing to be with him. If he _didn't_ act that way_, _he wouldn't be healing. But is this sadness ever going to end? His actions have led him to leave, but it might be good for him to get away from everyone who reminds him of how he used to be. After we leave here for good, he never has to look back.

But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to miss the way he tucks strands of hair behind my ear before he kisses me, miss the way he always clamps me as tight and as close as he can, fingers trailing up and down my back when we embrace, when we make love.  
That's what we're doing now, knowing it's going to be a long wait for the next opportunity. That's what he's doing to me, holding me with a grip impossibly unyielding, pushing me gently up and down with a thrust of his hips on this carpeted floor in the library, as I wrap my legs around him and never stop for a breath. Our lips are together, always together, and it's as if I don't even need to say anything aloud, I know he's probably sharing the exact same thoughts as I am.

And as the pleasured groans and untempered moans leave us, and the pace is faster, the burn and the lust elevated, I rip apart from him, holding his face in my hands, to find that he's not dripping from perspiration, his eyes are swollen red. Instead of letting me see him like this, he dives in and bites my neck, to make me scratch his shoulder blades with pleasure, and it's not a diversion, an embarrassment of seeing him 'weak', but so this moment isn't over.

I find my thumbs tracing his new scars, while my lip is being bitten, while I get him as deep in as I can. And I try to peck them better once he lets me have the chance.  
_And he says, "I love you."  
_And the words echo into my brain.  
And they don't placate me, they just stay there.

They're still there after the moment does end, they linger there for the rest of the night, when we've changed positions, gone softer, then rougher, then stopped just to kiss, or talk about nothing.

And by the time it's Friday, even though I've barely left him to sleep or eat, and we've dodged all the teachers and everybody else, there's an overwhelming nausea that permeates in my gut, a feeling of agony because I'm lying in bed and even though its early, I'm not going to be able to handle it.  
7 am, and I have dark circles under my eyes, and I'm ignoring all the pleas at divulging what's wrong with me, because I'm not ready to accept what's about to happen until it does. I feel like a failure, and it makes me feel horrible because I know this isn't my fault. I'm not responsible for holding somebody up on my own, I just finally thought Draco had put out a sturdy leg.

"Hermione, can you please talk to me?"  
Ginny catches me by surprise as I'm sitting on the common room sofa, sinking into maroon velvet with giant leather pages over my face to hide my expression.

Light as air, she's settled beside me, seriously troubled at my lack of speech lately.

"Hermione, I know it was very difficult for you to have to see Malfoy – _Draco – _in such a bad state, and then wait for the recovery….just – what happened? I haven't seen you in days it feels like. Did you break up? I saw him wandering the halls in between class yesterday. He looked terrible…" she finishes quietly.

Putting down the book slowly, I heave possibly the biggest sigh I ever have, and rub my eyes before shooting her a look of defeat: "He's leaving today."

"_What?" _She's confused. "Why is he leaving? And where?"  
For some reason those words are the ones that make me fall apart at the seams, and when I choke out a "_God, Ginny,_" she leans over and wraps me in embrace, rubbing my back.

"Everyone thinks he tried to kill himself. He was just getting overwhelmed. Flashbacks, like you said would happen. And when harry and Ron held my hand, he felt excluded I suppose, reminded him of how different we are. I don't know how I'm going to be able to stop worrying when he goes…and he's going home. He needs help."

"_I know," _she whispers, "he's going to be ok. You both care about each other a lot. If he really does seek what he needs, he's going to be alright."

And even though I know she's right, I can't calm the feeling in the pit of my stomach that's squeezing me dry. I feel like I can't breathe, that I'm going to be so empty soon.  
Then I have this revelation, wondering how somebody could actually love another person so much. Because the girl next to me does.

"_Can you promise me one thing?" _I ask.

"Anything," she insists, sitting back again and taking my hand.

"Talk to Harry. Please."

Her worry is now etched into a frown, and she swallows a lump in her throat.  
"I'm not ready yet."

"But – but you love him. And it's my fault that – "

"_Hermione, _it's not your fault at all," she states, almost angrily. "I do love him, but we're supposed to be adults now. Harry should've been able to cooperate with you better, look past his differences with Draco. I didn't like him, and I still don't forgive him or really trust him, but it's very clear he's treating you well, and it's clear he's not an arse. So I can look past the damned past and move on properly. I understood it was going to be hard for him, and even harder for Ron, but he behaved like a child. And ignored me. And didn't think it might be just as difficult. And I didn't like any of it. He didn't have to _do_ any of it."

"I know….I just want you to be happy. Like I've been trying to be. Like I was…"

"Like you _will _be," she stresses.

"Like I will be."

* * *

I've been staring at the door, at the ceiling, at the curtains, and finding it funny that I might actually miss this horrid place. That I might actually – _cry _later because I'll likely never step foot in this fucking dungeon ever again. That for me, my house and my 'legacy' at Hogwarts can be put to rest early.  
If it ever does.

And gathering all of my possessions, memories slide by in my mind.  
Having sex with Pansy in these very sheets two years ago.  
Drinking with the older boys and thinking that I surely must be the coolest that ever existed.  
Having a laugh with Blaise about the stupidity of Crabbe and Goyle.

These are _supposed_ to make me feel nostalgic, but all of them make me sick to my stomach. Of what I called 'a good time' was just being rude, or being a user and a manipulator.

If I _do _shed a tear, remind me to bash my head in once I get back to the manor.

I don't really desire to go to class, to do anything really but be with her, but I can't skip, can't give any more reasons as to why I'm a bloody mess.  
I think the reason I'm so angry at myself is because everyone else can hold it together the way I used to pretend to. Wear an outside shield, or maybe just a brave face, even if they're hurting inside. And I can no longer put on that act, I am no longer being targeted by Potter, the hate I'm getting recently is from something I actually deserve.

Doesn't really matter anyways now, I guess. I've dug the grave, the bags are packed. Literally. And now all I get to do is wait it out and see if being mostly solitary will be good for me this time. The door clicks open.

"Feeling alright?"  
I've almost forgotten about Nott. We haven't spoken in a long time, although he did tell me when I came back the first night out of the infirmary that Hermione actually came in here to find me. Bloody saint, she is. Risking her academic records, and her positions to just – _fuck, _I hate her. She's so amazing.  
I hate that she's so nice to me, I hate how much I love her now I have to go.

Anyways, I should probably attempt to stop thinking of her so much, it's going to be a long period of her absence.  
Theodore is gazing at me as if I'm a pitiful child he feels sad for. I don't fancy it.

"Not particularly."  
It comes out icy, it comes out trite.

"Oh….going somewhere?" he continues prodding, plopping on his sheets, eyebrows furrowed in misunderstanding.

"Home. And I'm never coming back."

I expect some kind of verbal exclamation, but nothing is said after. Despite my better judgement, I'm too curious as to why, seeing as he's normally so annoying and loud; so I turn around.

"You're running away?" he blurts before he can stop himself, and the sneer I must be wearing is making him flinch. "I didn't mean , I -"

"Surely you haven't been living under a rock? You were there, I _saw _you. Everyone thinks I tried to kill myself, and now because of all this speculation, _everyone _knows what happened two years ago in that godforsaken tower. I know they all do because they've been eyeing me like I might explode or with such disdain I want to rip my eyeballs out."

"_Did_ you want to kill yourself?"  
Chuckling, it strikes me as painfully hilarious that he's the first one to ask me before assuming that's what I wanted. Even Granger thought the worst.

"Not exactly. I wanted to run away. And McGonagall thinks I'm unwell, fuck I probably am, so she's sending me home. Instead of St. Mungo's, thanks to Slughorn, probably the only favour he's ever done for me."

"Well…I'm sorry, Malfoy. Really."

This is the moment I can take or leave. Forgive or forget it all for good.  
"I'm not. But I appreciate it."

Turning to him, I can only muster up a small smirk, and I hope, and I think, that he understands.

"I'm…I think I may actually _miss _your company, as weird as that sounds. You aren't as bad as you think you are, at least not when you're brooding in constant misery," he smiles, blushing the slightest of reds.  
It's hard to admit things like that when you're like us.

"And you're not as bad as I used to think you were," I find myself saying. And even more absurd; "You know, after you leave here too, feel free to visit. You don't have to, of course, but the door's open."

"Thanks, man."

I don't really have the will to try and have to say good bye to more than one person today, so I find myself leaving then, after we pass little nods and an uncomfortable silence.  
Marching up the steps, through the hall, I find her before I thought I would.

She's running up to me, tearing away from Ginny, who waves before going to eat breakfast with a grim grin and wave.

"_Come with me."  
_And before I can comprehend anything, she's dragging me away, down to a corridor I've rarely been too far away from the Great Hall, to where the Arithmancy tower is.

"_What are we – "_

"_I need you one last time, Draco. You're going right after last class."_

She's pushing me into an empty classroom, one that's been closed for the year, to the office in the back that's bare except for a desk.  
Shutting the door and enchanting it to be locked, no sooner has the handle clicked as she jumps on me, lips on lips, hands in my hair.

"_I love you, I love you, I love you," _I'm murmuring in between pecks, leaning against the bureau and tugging her into me, running my fingers up and down her back, along her hips.

"_I love you too, Draco," _she breathes, fumbling on the buttons of my blazer, of my shirt. And before I know it, I'm discarding hers too, and we look a mess but we don't care.

And I'm sitting on the desk, as she's leaning into me, when she pulls my zipper down, and ghosts her hand over where I want it to be. So teasingly slow, it's almost excruciating, but she knows that, and she knows that I _love _it, she knows exactly what to do to me.  
For that reason, this creates an experience so fucking bittersweet, I actually _do _want to cry, or get angry, maybe both. Because leaving is going to be a fate worse than death when I don't get to see her everyday anymore.

But I don't express any of these sentiments, I just keep kissing her, and then she lowers herself in a very calculated slinky way til she's on her knees, and she's pulled me upright. My trousers are down, and my cock is in her hand, and then in her mouth, and I can't take it.

"_Moan for me," _she manages to whisper while her tongue is sliding up and down, and if I wasn't so caught up in my thoughts right now I'd probably have came right now.

"_Fuck," _Is what comes out instead.

Pecking the shaft, running her palms along my inner thighs, she shoves my whole length down her throat, grabbing my arse to pull me closer into her. So immobilized, I can barely even move to run my hands through her hair, instead I'm practically screaming, sweating from trying to control what sounds I'm making.

"_You _love _this_, _don't you? You _love _it."  
_And that's it – that's all I can take.

She's on the floor, her skirt is being pulled up, and her panties ripped off.  
I don't let her have any time to speak, I'm the one pushing her down, crashing with her and give back what she was giving to me, stroking her with _my _tongue, and pushing my finger inside in time so she's bucking her hips and scratching my shoulders with her nails. When her legs wrap around my neck, I feel myself getting lost in her as she's wetter and wetter, and I think I'm going to burn a fucking hole in the stone.

"_Can I please fuck you? Please?" _I beg, coming up to breathe, to watch her chest rising, watch the way her eyes are sparkling with lust, lust _for me._

"_Yes."_

I scramble to get on my knees, and I hold under her knees to spread her apart, still wearing her knee-length socks, she's so _hot, _she's _mine, _and I wanted this last time to be memorable and make her feel so good, but my strategy fails because I have a fever.  
And Hermione is the cause.

I was going to try and calculate the best angle to thrust with, but I stop for a moment to look at her, _really _look, and her whole face is lit, like it's on fire. I've never seen her wear such a face, and It's almost as if she is seeing straight through me, but not in a bad way.  
Like she understands everything about me, or maybe just understands how I feel. And I don't even give a shit if I'm reading too much into this, I'm haunted by the stare, I'm _turned on.  
_The only option I have left is consuming her with my whole being, plunging into her, and wrapping my arms around her head so I can get myself close enough to swallow her whole.

She shifts so she's against the wall, so her feet can snake around my waist, so she has leverage to ride me and so I can push back, and I don't even feel like a person anymore, just nerve endings that are reacting to every slight friction on my skin. The only noises that I can hear to make me feel human are her soft whimpers in my ears, and the flicker of her marking me with red, reminders for later when I will only have her as a memory.

Release builds up, I can tell she's fast approaching too by the way she tenses.  
And then it comes for us both.  
And I realize, that if I _hadn't _gotten help last week in time, I would never get to experience this again. This is a small, very important, thing to live for.

Because it makes me feel alive.


	53. Passe Par Des Changements

**_It's hard to accept what you don't understand,  
And it's hard to launch without knowing how to land.  
And how when it burns you can't change a thing;  
Oh, you can soften the blow, but you can't stop the sting._**

**_And I've been going through changes, with nothing at all.  
_****_And I know that I needed changes__, __but not this cause this is not painless.  
_****_No, this is not painless__: __Nothing at al__l_**

**_- Going Through Changes_, Army of Me**

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Obviously, I'm now home safe and sound. You saw me leave with my mother. _

_It's terrible. She hasn't stopped crying all day, all night, and all morning now. She actually fell asleep next to me on my bed, and I was completely restless so I watched her unsteady breathing pattern all night._

_I think I legitimately made her fear for my life, she refuses to believe that it all wasn't intentional. Jean can't even get her to calm down. She was really concerned, she really cares. It makes me feel good rather than bad, actually, that she's so concerned._

_Still, I can't help but wallow in this pity. I'm such a self-absorbed piece of garbage, honestly. _

_And I miss you so much.  
I really hope this gets better, because I've yet to feel any relief I guess I was meant to feel being relieved of my academic obligation._

_I hope you're ok.  
I love you.  
Draco_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_So far, I think this woman's alright. She's been talking to me about my feelings, which is…surprisingly not as difficult as I thought it would. Given how hard it is with people I know. Guess that's why they call it therapy._

_I don't feel much better, I still miss you so much every passing second it hurts me. Fuck, it's only been two weeks. _

_And while I'd love it if you missed me too, that it feels as if there's a little tear in your heart that will be void til we meet again, I hope you've spent your days catching up so you`re 100%. Surpassed all the other students as always, I'm sure, caught up the slack from when I distracted you? _

_I'm kidding, I can already envision the look of disapproval on your face. I know if I distracted you, you would have told me so._

_I'm very glad they handed you back my old Prefect duties, even if it's for Slytherin. Kind of odd, I suppose, but if Theo wouldn't take it…My hypothesis is that McGonagall wanted to give you something nice for your credentials in your last year, don`t really know why you let somebody else take it in the first place. You'd be the best Head Girl, i'm certain._

_Okay, I'm rambling. I just don't want to stop pretending that I'm actually speaking to you. My heart still weighs heavy constantly.  
I really didn't think it was possible to love somebody as much as I love you._

_I miss you.  
Draco_

_PS: To answer your question, I do feel safe here. The isolation is not as bad as it was. And I will be ok. Eventually._

* * *

_Fuck this woman, fuck everything about her._

_I HATE HER.  
You know what she said? She said that _I_ felt like I've been devoid of real affection for so long that I was leaning on you solely, as if I didn't appreciate my mother or never liked my father. Because I told her how I felt when I was running into the forest. That I "was so emotionally unstable that I was never able to shake the feeling that I was acting like a burden" on you._

_What does she know, anyways? I'm never seeing her again._

_Literally all I tried to do the whole time I went to bloody Hogwarts was try to move on._

_I'm so pissed off right now._

* * *

_Hermione_

_I wish you were here._

_You were right. I overreacted. I know she was trying to help, okay. I SWEAR I didn't yell at her, please don't curse me through mail. I believe your threats, you know. When you say you'll do it, I don't doubt it._

_Remember when you said that it was hard to love me because I hate myself? It's probably the truest thing you've ever said. I can't bear to hear bad things about myself from other people, criticism. Because I know it's all the truth. _

_I just thought that when you decided you liked me….loved me….that maybe I was actually starting to be different. I'm just not over all the hang ups, I swept them under the rug when I should've faced them. _

_I hope I will get better with time, I suppose I can talk to my Healer Elsanna about things I couldn't talk about with you. And maybe that'll help._

_Maybe._

_When can I see you by the way? Can you get permission to leave on weekends? Please ask._

_Love you.  
Draco_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Merlin, I didn't mean to make you so irate if I did, darling._

_I can't talk to you about certain things not just because of shame, but because it's just….it's too close to home for you. You really think I've forgotten about what almost happened to Weasley? To Katie Bell? What I did to Madam Rosmerta?_

_There's this pity you see in me which most others don't. You get frustrated when they don't sometimes, but it's very clear why they wouldn't feel sorry for me. _I_ wouldn't feel sorry for me._

_You think I don't dream about it all still at least once a week, see Potter flashing in my mind, cursing me? Because I do. My nightmares aren't intense as they once were, but they're always prevalent. I'm not coping with rum anymore, I promised myself I would stay sober. No potions either. _

_It's a hell of a lot easier writing down what I can't tell you so I don't have to see your face when I say these things, but often I find myself wishing I could've died when Potter hit me with that spell. I wish Snape didn't save me._

_It's what I would've deserved, after all. _

_I don't want to tell you these things because I know how much it worries you. _

_What's keeping me alive right now is _you_. And I hope that doesn't affect you more than it should, or make you feel responsible for me or something, just…..my mother's love for me has always been there, right? I take it for granted sometimes, but it's different than your love. _

_Yours means more to me._

_Draco_

* * *

_Hermione,  
_

_Your last letter brought me to tears. Don't feel bad for asking me about everything, ok? You caring enough to ask in the first place makes me warm inside.  
_

_I've sealed it in its envelope and hidden it away so only I can ever read it. _

_I don't deserve someone so amazing as you.  
But one day I hope to be worthy. My main motivation for getting over this crap is you. And maybe that's not right of me, maybe I'm sick in the head. But it's a start. _

_I love you,  
Draco._

* * *

_Hermione,_

_I love you so fucking much.  
Good luck with your quarterly exams, I know you'll do amazing. _

_Draco_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_It's been two days, I know, nothing's happened of interest.  
I'm just so disgustingly bored._

_My mother doesn't want me to leave, so I've walked around the garden about one thousand times, tallied the bricks on the fountain terrace as I paced it; there's 567._

_Counting the days til you're in my arms again,  
Draco_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Yes I know I could very well do my homework._

_I think Slughorn is losing his mind, he wants me to send him vials of potion I'm supposed to be brewing now. What if my owl accidentally drops it and it breaks onto muggle territory, making some poor woman from Cornwall sprout ear pustules?_

_That might be funny, actually._

_Anyways, I'm up to date. Promise.  
Ask the teachers, they'll back me up._

_Guertin gave me an Outstanding on my DADA essay about defensive strategies against banshees, even. Though that was mostly due to you talking about them for one of your tests, and that book you recommended. I have it here in my library._

_Yes, I have a library Yes, I'm trying to entice you to come. It's an expansive library, Hermione. I hadn't been in it in a while, mind, sometimes I forget it's actually there to be honest. But there are over 10,000 titles according to mother dearest, and they're crying to be opened._

_Miss you.  
Draco_

* * *

_When are you coming?_

_The flowers are starting to bloom, and all I can think is that I'd love to lie down in the grass and kiss you._

_It's been so long since I've seen your face, since I've touched your skin. Since I've gotten to feel your lips on mine. It's excruciating._

_And this isn't romantic at all, but I really want to fuck your brains out. Male you scream for me, come for me.  
God, I hope nobody reads this except you._

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Your last letter made me more aroused than I thought was ever possible.  
__I do understand that you have been trying and McGonagall won't budge on it, but if anyone can persuade her, it would be you._

_I started reading a book, by the way. A fiction book._

_I'm nearly done, but I am not so certain why I have kept reading, it's so depressing._

_It's about a boy who is bitten by a werewolf when he's twenty. Before that he was a very esteemed Auror. He tries to hide his new affliction, but this was written way before Wolfsbane potion was created. They see his scars after one particular nasty night out in his transformation, and after everyone finds out at the Ministry, they shun him. All his friends leave him alone, and he loses his job because he's deemed dangerous. Someone from his neighbourhood assembles a mob and they set fire to his house. He runs away and hides himself in mountains. Snaps his wand in half. Doesn't want to be a wizard. He goes insane._

_All he wants to do is talk to someone but , the only ones who listen are the wolves when he is transformed. He's not supposed to remember this after he turns back into a human, but he does. He starts to long to stop being a human anymore, he wishes to be a wolf fully._

_I'm not sure where the author is going with this. I'll let you know.  
Draco_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Yes, I suppose I was very invested in the whole thing, sorry. I'm alright. The book…it's much better than I'm able to describe it. It's called Going Through Changes by Petra Lycander._

_Anyways, Elsanna thinks I'm making progress. I saw her yesterday. I wish I had her scale of betterment, because I still feel like colossal bollocks. My mother, at least, has finally realized I'm not going to hang myself when she's away from me for two seconds. _

_My god, my mind is everywhere. What was I – oh yeah. Healing. Elsanna said I had a 'revelation'.  
And no, I don't know what that revelation was. I wish I did._

_She wants me to figure it out on my own._

_Miss you, as always. I will try to stop pestering you about visiting.  
Draco_

* * *

_She's really not going to let you see me, is she? It's almost July._

_Got to hand it to the Headmistress, she never fails on protocol. But fucking hell, you have to wait until a holiday? When is there going to be a holiday? You'll be out of school before then. Fucking messed up school schedule.  
_

* * *

_August there's a break? August?  
That's so far away. I feel like crying, no, I am crying._

_There's this paranoia I have that you'll find someone before I get to see you again, and all this improvement of myself will have nobody to appreciate it as much as you would. But I'm just being silly, I know you'd tell me if you felt any different.  
And no, that you've asked me a hundred times doesn't help, but I still don't know what my revelation is. Do you know?_

_By the way, I finally finished the book. The man, Gervase, wanders to a town in the middle of nowhere in Serbia. He doesn't mean to, he had traveled for months, doesn't remember his own name, and hunts in forests when he's hungry. He hides himself under a cloak. But somebody spots him in the darkness and thinks he's a criminal. So he shows himself and says no, he's just lost and hungry. It's a muggle inn owner that finds him. He collapses at a stable girls feet once inside. She leads him up to a room, gives him some beer, and lets him stay for free because she thinks he's handsome, she tells him so. He is so surprised and grateful, he starts to weep. And winds up telling her his secret, feeling he can't live a lie anymore, that she doesn't deserve to be fooled by his ugliness, that someone so kind could never like a monster. Shows her the scars on his body from animal fights. But she kisses them instead and tells him he seems lonely, and honest. That somebody who reveals to her his greatest shame can't be that bad.  
It ends when they get married, they're in a chapel saying their vows. He has his wand again._

_I'm going to send it to you.  
I think you'd like it.  
Draco_

* * *

The parchment pages are wet as I re-read them for what feels like at least the tenth time through.

I didn't think I'd miss him that much when he was gone, convinced myself he was getting help and that it was most important for him, while most important for me was getting O's.

There's something indescribable though, something I just cannot ignore, a pleasure that resonates from within my heart every time I see his owl swoop in in the mornings to deliver me a letter.

Tearing open the silver M seal and feeling the paper at my fingertips, imagining how Draco felt writing to me, the swoop in my chest at the cursive 'I love you's, are feelings I've never experienced. The loneliness once the glow dims….it's akin to when Ron left Harry and I in the Forest of Dean, but so much greater.

"_Hey,"_ someone has taken hold of my shoulders. I've been huddled in the corner chair by the fireplace. It's dark, almost 10 pm, I didn't think anyone was up.  
I'm so startled I can't emit any noise.

But as I search for the source, adjusting my sight to the rest of the common room, I already know by the voice it's going to be highlighted by eyes that are gentle and green.

"Hermione, are you ok?"  
Harry settles down in front of the brick, so his back gets ample heat, and faces me on the ground, the flames dancing vividly off reflection of his glasses. Fiddling with his thumbs, he waits for me to speak.

"Yeah," I reply, my throat scratchy and sore from trying not to sob. I don't cry often, I'm just especially melancholy tonight.

"McGonagall still not letting you go?"

"No," I sigh, practically slamming everything in my hands onto the floor, the dull thunk causing Harry to swiftly move his legs out of its path. "She says it's not allowed unless it's a holiday. It's been almost two months, I can't take it anymore. Writing isn't enough. I know he's getting better, but….I just miss him you know?"

"So….he _is _getting better?"

The skepticism laced in is tone is not lost on me, but he's trying to be nice. He actively came down here to speak with me.

"Yes. He's getting therapy…and just….the way he's been talking to me. He only seemed upset for the first few weeks. And the way he's been talking about his healer….I think he's ok."

"Well…that's good," he assures me, unsure of what he else he could say.

"Look, we don't have to talk about Draco. But that's why I'm upset. I miss him."

It's against school rules to Apparate in the near vicinity outside school grounds and the Floo Network is not connected anywhere. I have debated the issue with McGonagall for a long time, but she won't relent. Five more weeks until I see him is going to be absolute torture.  
Everything is different now he's gone, not in a bad way necessarily, but it's strange.

Harry started talking to me again like we were normal three days after he was gone. Ginny….well, Ginny _hated _that, but she is falling for him again, I know it. She can't keep her eyes off him whenever they're in the same room. It's killing her that she can't be with him.

And Ron, _oh Ron_.  
We barely have conversations, but he will come and say hello to me, will sit near me in the Great Hall. We're all acting like we're a tight-knit family again, even though it's still a messy masquerade.

So happy to have everyone else I care about back in my life, I'm still left missing the way _he_ looked at me, the way he held me in his arms. Guess you can't have everything.

"I know how you feel. It's like…_uh," _he falters noticing my gaze trained on him, "it's like when I was away from Ginny for so long. When I saw her in her room at the Burrow, knowing that it would be the last time for a while. Hurt a lot, and it hurt even more holding in how I felt because there was something more important at hand."

Staring straight ahead to avoid me looking at him, I realize I've never really had a heart to heart with Harry quite like this. He, like a lot of boys I know, has a hard time expressing his inner feelings.

"You know I guess I forgot about that when we were out hunting horcruxes. We were so absorbed in thinking about Voldemort…and about surviving really…I guess I was content to have you and Ron there with me even if it was difficult. And then when he left…you were there for me through it all. I guess I never really thanked you for keeping me sane."

"Hermione, you stayed with me through everything. You were one of the only ones, and one of the only people I trust. You never have to thank me for anything."  
His hand is squeezing mine, enclosing me in warmth. Though I'm happy at his admission, I shiver now, realizing that even in the bask of the fire I'm freezing. I'm down here in nightclothes after all. I just wanted a light source to read, so as to not disturb the girls.

"Cold?"

"I'm fine."

Unsure of what to say, thoughts are overwhelming me about how I've treated Harry, how he's treated me, how he and Ron are not the same person but I've been thinking of them as one entity. Harry harbouring intense anger towards Draco was truly justified, I guess everyone's anger was, but I suppose I never stopped to really mull over the implication of what I was doing based on Harry's emotions. I was dating someone whose father gave his girlfriend a cursed diary, who accidentally poisoned Ron, his best friend, constantly tormented said friend for being poor. He fired a killing curse at Harry, even if they were fighting, and almost got us killed in the Room of Requirement. He fired a spell at me too, made my teeth grow. Called me a mudblood.

I guess when you can see through someone so easily as I have, it's easier to forgive them. I knew Draco was all talk, no action. And I also realised how repentant Draco was from the day he yelled at us on the train coming back here to know he was hurting. It was so obvious guilt was eating him alive. I see a change, but Harry can't yet.  
And he _tried _to not be an arse initially. He tried going to Dragonblood with us. It was only at school where every venue serves as a reminder of what happened in the past year did Harry cave. And I suppose I have to understand that. Because, while he hasn't shown it very well, deep down I know Harry cares for me. Otherwise he wouldn`t have been so cross.

We sit in silence until curiosity gets the better of me in these intrusive ideas swirling around my head.  
"By the way, did you hear me get up? How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't know. I couldn't sleep, I _ahem, _had a dream about Ginny. I came down and then _you _were here. I figured we might as well be insomniacs together. I realize we haven't really been buddy buddy lately the way we _could_ be…" he trails.

"It's fine. Really."

"No – " he cuts me off, shaking his head before looking up at me with effort, "it's not. Like Ginny said at the Burrow after you left when we all yelled. When we got pissed at you for having the audacity to date someone we don't like….you keep us together. We need you. Ron is a great mate, but you are so smart and controlled, and he's….he's been rubbish to get me through lately, you know? Not his fault, just you were always so great at helping me out when it came to relationships."

Sliding off the cushion, I am levelled with Harry as I engulf him in a hug, patting him on his messy black head, knowing he probably just needs someone here to listen. Someone who _isn't _Ginny's sibling.

His arms wrap around mine with need, and for a fleeting moment I'm given a flashback. His sincerity reminds me of Draco's, and I imagine that _that_ is who I'm embracing instead, to delude myself a bit to help this sadness I'm in.

"_I missed you Hermione. I'm glad we're talking. There's nothing_ _I can say to excuse how I've been acting. I just couldn't believe my eyes, and I – _you_ didn't need that," _he says evenly in my ear, still holding me. _"I'm sorry."_

"_I'll always be here, Harry. You know that. Through anything."_

"_Well I'm going to be here too now. I promise."_

* * *

It's been 48 days, and I might be going slightly insane.

Or else, afflicted with cabin fever.  
I think I miss Hermione so much, I'm channelling her. I've literally gone through 35 books so far, on top of my school ones. Doing homework at every spare moment when I feel bored. At least I'll graduate well.

_Ha._

My mother is fine company, Jean is pleasant too, but they still are talking to me as if I'm mental, not _going _to be if I don't escape this place soon. Every dinner is like some party they want to throw for me, being overly cheery, talking to me about what I studied that day. It's grating.

I've taken to scribbling down random lyrics….and writing music to match. But it's so personal, I haven't divulged to anyone except Elsanna that I have been trying to be artistic.  
The songs...they're much too….they're too… can't think of a word that fits right. I'm just not usually one to show my work. I'll play or sing _someone else's_ works, but not something I carved out of my own heart.

Maybe I should tell Hermione I've been playing piano, at least. My fingers hitting the keys really reminds me of when we were partners, when we had everything before this mess I created.

I don't know why I haven't.  
Elsanna thinks I should share my poetry with Hermione, but. I don't know. I feel so frightened.

Speaking of Elsanna, after about 18 sessions so far, I no longer want to slit my throat when I open my mouth. I don' t mind sharing.

I don't mind….._crying_.  
She finally got it out of me that I used the Imperius curse, as if she didn't already know, and all the questions about morals, and about why I did it – I was left a sobbing mess on the floor. It was right after I wrote Hermione. Hermione was livid that I was 'hiding' things from her. She can be a bit irrational sometimes, and she felt really bad once I told her I still get some very bad thoughts in my mind. I love that about her; her fiery spirit. That she gets so upset about me makes me feel special, even if that's selfish.

She wants me to feel good, and maybe i'm finally starting to. I think now I've gone out and actually verbally stated my sins, though, I can move past it all. Which I suppose is the essence of therapy; self-realization.

Speaking of which, I _still _don't know what this bloody revelation I'm supposed to be having _is._  
All I did was talk to the healer about _Going Through Changes_ during that one…I became a bit enthralled in it, enthralled in a book. So rare for me.

I just really related to Gervase. You know?  
Like, this man loses everything because of something he has no control over, and he then loses a sense of who he is, and he's so afraid of himself and what he's capable of because he doesn't know how he gets all these scars, how he winds up with blood on his hands. He can't remember who he was, and I –

_Fuck._

I am such a blind idiot.

I get it.  
I GET IT.

Shuffling from my spot by the pond outside, my feet are taking me back to the manor before I even realize what I want to do. Flinging open the glass doors, I'm racing through the halls to the foyer, to get to the stairs.

"_Darling, are you ok?"  
_My mother is leaning out of her bedroom, no doubt hearing the stamping of my feet on the woodwork.

"I'm great! I had a reaization!"  
And I leave her in the dust with a bewildered expression as I'm settling at my desk, grabbing a fresh quill and my old parchment. The sun is going down outside, and I write frantically so I can try and deliver it before it's too late.

_Hermione_

_I figured it out!  
I know what the revelation is!_

_I'm Gervase! I related to somebody, even if it was in literature. I found myself in something else. That has to be what it is, right? I understand how I feel through him._

_I'm Going Through Changes too. Is that completely off base, completely mental, or what? _

_And you…you're like the stable girl. Salvadora. You saw something in me that nobody else has seen.  
You gave me a second chance.  
At life, at being able to believe in myself._

_I love you so much.  
Draco_

No, that's not enough. I need to add something more.

_PS: I know I told you I've been reading, but….I've also been composing. And writing. This is a poem I wrote about you, that I swore to myself I'd never show you. But here we are. I don't want to hide:_

_I am the desert and you are the rain  
That touches my lips but never seems to stay  
Long enough for me to be  
Fully satisfied_

_And the salty tears  
Of my dry eyes  
Will not sustain me  
Forever_

_They never could like  
You would_

_I wish you were an oasis_  
_So I could dive in so deep_  
_And stay there forever  
__I'd never sleep_

_And if I drowned I'd feel so happy_  
_Because you are What I want_  
_What I need_

_And I would experience you  
If only for one single  
Moment  
And consider myself so lucky _

_There are some who will call me  
Crazy  
But I tell you they're oh so  
Wrong_

_They've never heard the  
__Sweet voices sing  
__Never seen the daylight  
__Touch the morning sky_

_And understood that  
Things like these  
Only happen  
Once  
In your lifetime_

_And that is what you are  
To me  
A rare occurrence  
That we all deserve to see_

_Each unique for every person  
It's called love  
True Love_

* * *

Touching the leather bound novel, Harry treads his fingers over the shiny gold text: _Passe par des Changements_ .

An illustration of a landscape under moonlight, with a grey wolf howling in the trees of a forest rests underneath in brightly coloured ink.

"So what is this? New reading material? Thought you loved non-fiction. _Passe par des Changements…." _Harry recites in terrible French.

"It's a book Draco gave me. He really loved it. Please, _don't -_" I plead as he's begun to finger the mass of letters, rifling through them in a row before apologizing.

"It's okay, it's just personal."

We're still down here, an hour and a bit later. Neither of us were tired, so we're huddled on the hearth in blankets. Both of us are in relationship-related sorrow, so my companion ran upstairs and grabbed some spare firewhisky that Ron hides in his bedside table. Heated up by the fire, we've been sipping at it straight from the bottle.  
Misery loves company.

"_Fluent in French? He _would _be," _Harry mutters, rolling his eyes despite himself.

"Oh come on, he's an aristocratic _pureblood," _I say, smacking him on the arm. "He _must _follow the proper_ bourgeois protocol."_

Though we're both a little upset, I find myself giggling like a child alongside him, the buzz in my head a nice dissonance from my constant stream of thought that plagues me daily.

"I still don't know what you saw in him. Sorry, _see_," he corrects, leaning back against the chair frame next to me, forcing the alcohol in my hand. I chance a glance at him to see his eyes a little glazy before taking one tentative sip.

"He's interesting. And passionate. He's sort of like…he's kind of like a _snake. _ I suppose. Most people think they're dangerous, poisonous, something you should never touch or get close to at all…wait, no, that's a terrible metaphor. There's not really a good side to snakes I can think of," I snort.  
God, I _really am_ tipsy.

"I just love him a lot, he makes me feel a way I never have before. He makes me feel beautiful, intelligent, and like what I have to say is fascinating. And when he's gone…you know, I'm normally so independent and crave being solitary sometimes, but there's something missing when he leaves. I always want to be around him. You know?"

"Kinda," Harry says, furrowing his brow.

"Plus," I continue, wincing after another gulp of the smoky liquid, "he really knows how to _shag."  
_The words are out of my mouth before my filter can react and I smack my hands to my mouth.  
_Dammit._

"Uh…."

"I think that's the cue to get to bed. It's past midnight and I don't really fancy going to class hungover," I say, stifling a hiccup while trying to not let him see the redness that's creeping up my neck. _So embarrassing._

I've _never _had any talk about sex with Harry, why would I?

"Yeah…."  
We both stumble as we get up, and he catches my hand as I almost fall over back to the floor.

"Merlin, didn't think we actually drank that much," Harry laughs, shaking the near empty bottle as we descend up the first flight of stairs.  
He trips and just balances in the nick of time, standing upright.

"We can replace it….well, good night," I say, grabbing him for a goodbye hug, grateful to have someone here to pass the time with. I can't be whiny with Ginny, wailing about how I miss a bloke when hers is out of her life for now. "It was nice talking with you. I really mean it."

"Best time I've had in a while," he confesses, rubbing my shoulder gently.

Drawing back from him, I smile; he smiles back.  
And then….then he flickers his gaze up and down, from my mouth to my eyes in a way he's _never _done before.

_It reminds of…_Draco.  
No.

I'm just drunk, it's fine.

_We're drenched in darkness, he's probably just focusing vision, _is what I naively think.  
And suddenly, he's close. _Way _too close.

He's snogging me, he's crushing me into him. Oh god, he's snogging me fiercely, his hands groping me awkwardly. It takes me by such surprise that my voice dies in my throat; instead I push him back much harder than I intended.

"_What the hell was that?"  
_Fury replaces the gratefulness I felt mere seconds ago; funny how one tiny action can change the whole world.

But I get no reply; he looks like he's just seen a ghost, then spins round and marches up to his dorm before I can demand anything more, leaving me on a step with my lips burning and shame swallowing me whole.


	54. Bad Blood

**_If we're only ever looking back, we will drive ourselves insane.  
As the friendship goes resentment grows, we will walk our different ways._**

_**But those are the days that bind us together, forever;**_  
_**And those little things define us forever, forever.**_

_**All this bad blood here, won't you let it dry?**_  
_**It's been cold for years, won't you let it lie?**_

**_- Bad Blood,_ Bastille**

* * *

The bell tings as I exit the shop, slinking back onto the cobbled street. As I inhale the fresh spring air the joyful relief I sought doesn't come. Even with my hand on a handle of a bag full of crisp, new books, I feel nothing pleasant, only a little of my normal anticipation to absorb new information.

Suddenly the clock in the middle of the square chimes at half past. Sighing, I realize there's an hour left until curfew, 45 til I have to round up the younger Slytherins who decided to come out and lead them back to Hogwarts. And It feels _way_ too damn long a time to wait.

Why in the hell I decided to agree to Prefect duties this year, nearly halfway through, let alone for a _different house_, I'll never know. Or why McGonagall wanted me to do it in the first place….it's definitely a record in Hogwarts. If Theodore and Millicent refused, I suppose that the only option would be to ask other seventh years because they're the only other ones left. Draco was probably correct in assuming that maybe the Headmistress wanted me to have more, and better, credentials.

_God, _Draco.  
Just hearing his name leaves stabbing pains in my heart filled with apprehension.  
I haven't written him back since he gave me _Passe par des Changements. _I wonder what he must think.  
I don't even know what _I _think.

Last week was one of the worst nights I've had in a long time, which is certainly saying something. And it's also created a conflict I've had yet to deal with, and never thought I would have. Thus, I have no idea how to. So I haven't been reacting at all.

Guilt and shame are washing over me about my behaviour, but this isn't an appropriate place for that to occur. I have to wait til I'm in my room, under my covers, so I can lay there alone. I have to figure out what to do.  
Still, with time I must waste, maybe I should go to the Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeer to pass through this isolation …and read in a corner by the fire for safe distraction.

Thinking of dancing flames, my mind flashes back to the common room. Of sipping liquor with a friend, feeling comfort. Then a welcome reconciliation turning to unwanted lips touching mine, and the consequences, the problems that have arisen from it making every single day worse and worse. Anger then simmers to a boiling point in my stomach, but right now I want nothing to do with it. Right now I am miserable and irritated.

Shaking it off, I find the nerve and will somehow to propel me to start walking along for some much needed solace. Chances are _he's _going to be there waiting for me. He hasn't stopped pestering me since it happened. But I don't care.

I'm not ready to talk.  
And it isn't until I get to the bar, when I'm walking up to order that there's a flash of messy black hair in my peripherals. He's sitting next to Dean and Seamus, and…_Ron. _How nice.

Strong as I would like to be, I can see his eyes widen as he scrambles to get up. No doubt coming for a chat. I'm so livid though, I could, and _want, _to spew a great a number of expletives at him for his audacity. Causing a scene will only then cause disaster however, so I think fast.  
Pretending like I misplaced something, rifling through my bag, and then looking slightly distressed, I tell Madam Rosmerta that I 'forgot my wand'. Then I shuffle out once more, deciding maybe the Hogs Head would be an ok place to go.

It would be polite to say hello to Aberforth anyways.  
It would polite if there wasn't someone _trailing _me, their footsteps quite audible.

"Hermione, _please _wait."

There's not a chance in hell.

"_Hermione!"_

_Don't say anything.  
Don't respond._

My grip tightens on my belongings, my free hand curling into a fist around vine inside my jacket out of nasty habit.

"HERMIONE!"

An echo rings out, an inflection so tempered with annoyance I want to spin around and slap him. But I don't. Instead, I come to a halt, noticing several onlookers staring at this altercation, and I beckon him to follow me.

In silence he complies, behind me, out of either fear or respect. It seems as if an eternity has passed once we reach our destination, and hoping that I have excuses to go and find the people I'm in charge of, the clock betrays me and says I still have 37 minutes left.

Settling in the far corner booth, I nod my head to the barkeep who merely grunts at my presence. Harry decides to be a 'gentleman' and gets us drinks and exchanges pleasantries before sitting across from me. I want to scream at how awkward this is, but I'm not starting this conversation, so I put my hand out for him to start once he slides me a Butterbeer.

"So…how are you?"

Riveting start.

"Fine."

"Must be weird to have to look after a bunch of Slytherins, eh? McGonagall really wants you to succeed," he tries, with false fervour that I try extremely hard not to cringe at.

"I suppose."

It hasn't really been up until now, that I gave him the time of day, that I truly felt how cross I am at him. At _myself._

"Hermione –We can't avoid this forever," he says after a pause, shaking his head out of irritation at my shortness.

"We're not, we're talking _aren't we_?" I snap, and he flinches as my hand smacks the table.

"You've been dodging me all week. And I GET IT, alright – " he stresses, noticing my firm hold on the glass. "Look, I – _dammit, _I don't know what to say! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for what I did."

"Sorry isn't good enough, _Harry_."  
Tears are threatening to assault me again.  
_Be strong, be strong!_

"I know. I was an idiot, I - "

"You were _more _than an idiot! Do you even understand what's happened? Do you understand what you've done?"

"YES!" he shouts, then adjusts his tone, flicking his head around quickly to see if he's been heard. "I – I wasn't thinking, _obviously_. The way you were holding me, it reminded me of Ginny. The way she used to. I haven't, you know, I …_I really miss her._ It was so stupid._"_

That's exactly how I felt, isn't it? I pretended he was Draco.  
_Yes,_ _but you had the restraint not to kiss him because of it._

"Look, I get how you feel. I _do_. But that's no excuse, Harry. That you miss her? Ginny broke up with you for a _reason,_ remember. You can't mope around and expect things to fix themselves. She wants you back, I know she does and - "

"She – she does?" he interrupts, posture rigid, eyes affixed to mine.

"It's so clear, _honestly_. She watches you every time you're in the same room. But you haven't earned it yet, that's my point. And _now? _Now you're going to have to explain to her that you snogged me, aren't you? That in a moment of bad judgement you made me _cheat _on Draco. Just _FUCK. _What am I supposed to do!? What am I possibly going to tell him – that his worst nightmare came true and I'm off with other boys while he's locked up alone in his house?"

"I….." he pauses, a look of utter incomprehension dawning on his face at my cursing. "I _don't know?"_

The very thought of him being an accomplice in my infidelity never seemed to have crossed his mind until now, I'm wagering. Seriously, I don't think he's fully realized what happened the minute he decided to lean in.

He swallows hard, darting his vision now away from me to out the window, blinking hard.

"And worse, we have to tell Ron too. I don't think he has any lingering feelings for me anymore, but he's going to be pissed that you pulled that stunt. You crossed the line. This is just a huge mess."  
Taking a big gulp of my drink, my heads dizzy from contemplating any kind of conversation I could have with three people I don't want to talk to ever again.

"Tell Draco what happened…tell him what I said. That I'm sorry. I was drunk, and that I'm the one who chose to do it. He surely can't hate me anymore than he does."

"God, I don't think it's going to matter. It's not your fault _I _drank too. I'm not going to paint a picture where I look perfect. Tell him you came down with firewhiskey and threw yourself at me. He's going to blame himself anyways, one of the times where it actually isn't his fault at all. He knew how sad I was when you and Ron started to ignore me. He'll think that we made up…and made up in more ways than one," I groan, another sip taken. "He'll think I want to be more than friends."

"_Think _that we made up. You mean we didn't that night...before..._Aren't we friends again, Hermione?"_

The helplessness in his voice takes me by surprise. Instead of examining the cracked wooden table, I examine _him _with great effort. Frowning, he appears as upset as I feel.

Oh Merlin, why am I such a wimp? Why does the sight of vulnerability melt me and make me cave? I don't want to bitch at him any longer, but I'm still frustrated beyond belief.

"We never _stopped_ being friends," I tell him, throat closing in from choking back tears. "You just decided when we got back from break that compromise wasn't an option anymore. I would've tried harder to make amends between you and Draco, but you were just so _angry. _You _and _Ron. It made everyone else hate him, and _us,_ too. As soon as Draco left, you came back to me, Harry. As if it would all be alright. Do you not see how much that hurts me?"

"Don't you understand how _hard _it was to see you fall for somebody who's been such a complete arsehole to you, to me, to _everyone _I care about? Maybe he's reformed a bit, but it doesn't mean I can ever forgive what he's done," he defends himself, fists balling. "I was only worried. We _all _were_!_"

"And I appreciate that. But Ginny stepped up and tried to interact. Which surprised me, considering how terrible Draco's family's been to the Weasley's. Ron didn't step up, for that same reason I assume. And you….you haven't been a good friend to me either," I cry. "You didn't _try_. Of everyone, I thought that you'd understand _most _when people need second chances. I thought that the end of the war was the end of hate."

"Hermione, it was, but – just – "

"No 'justs'!" I yell, and he finally has the sense to draw himself back at my snarled expression. "You made my boyfriend _faint_ and have an anxiety attack in the middle of a hallway! In front of an audience! You called him a Death Eater, pureblooded scum. Harry, your anger about his past is justified, but lashing out at him like that was not. And _never_ will be."

"I know, I lost it."

"More than _lost it. _How hard is it for you to cast off your biases and see that he _hates himself? _Do you know that Draco has nightmares? Almost every night? Do you know he was alcoholic all year before coming back because he became intolerant to dream potions? He couldn't make the flashbacks go away in any other fashion."

"I….." He's at a loss.

"_No_, you don't. And you know why? Because you never gave him a chance to open up. Ron didn't either. Nobody has."

Slumping his shoulders, his resolve is lessening every passing second.  
"You're right, Hermione. I didn't try, I was too pissed off. I never want to try and be friends with Malfoy, but for you? I will. Ok? I mean it. Maybe this is too late now….I know I get really - _hotheaded, _but it's so difficult for me to turn it off."

Harry doesn't like admitting his faults, like everyone else. And he _hates _admitting he's wrong. Maybe he needs some guidance, maybe I can help him, maybe we can help each other.  
Nothing that's been said has quelled the unease so far, but refusing to make amends isn't going to do me any favours.

"Harry, it's not too late. I'm not going to tell you you need to give someone second chances, and not give you one yourself. Just know you have to turn it off sometimes. Obsessing over Draco's scheming like you did in sixth year was irritating to Ron and I, and won't help now. And yes, you _were_ right that time, but this time you're wrong. This time, it's our friendship at stake. And Ginny, and your future together."

"Hell, _I know," _he admits, placing his head in his hands. "I'm such a bastard. What do I do? How can you even forgive me?"

"I don't fully forgive you, not yet. And because I'm your friend. Because I'm _weak," _I chuckle. When he returns one, I feel spurred on to continue. "You have to fight for Ginny. Normally, respecting her wishes and giving her space works because she'd just hex you or tell you to knock it off. But this time, you have to show her you're willing to let bygones be bygones. She said you were trying to make everything 'perfect' like last year, but it's completely destroyed now. So let it all go and start again, not where we 'left off'."

"And I have to fight for you, too, don't I? Play happy families with the ferret?" he attempts to grin, an insincere result. But it's a start.

"Yes. Draco is _not _his father. And he's more damaged than I imagined. You have to get it through your mind that he regrets everything he's ever done, you _know _that because he showed you his memories. You know that he tried because he came to the goddamn Burrow. The only person who will be able to help him in the end is _him, _but he needs support. And having yours would've warded off people better than what occurred when we got back."

Embarrassment washes over him. His face a bright red. And the minor satisfaction I feel is probably not good, but I feel it anyway.  
"I really made you feel horrible, didn't I?"

"Yes. You were mad at me for wanting him but you sort of pushed me into his arms more. We basically only had one another for an entire month. Hanging out with Luna or Ginny, one of the few who would talk to me, it felt he was a taboo subject. And when we were together, it was some secret affair. Like it was really special."

I finish in a low voice, and he's flickering his gaze at me, calculating, before he continues.

"You love him a lot, don't you?"  
He asks me with clear pain, but his eyes let me know he wants the truth.

"Yes. It almost feels unhealthy. I'm just so attracted to him. We spent hours and hours together every day. Underneath all that baggage is somebody who's witty, intelligent. Someone who makes me feel good about myself. All I ever wanted to do was be with him, right now I wish we he was here beside me. And though I suppose I don't have much experience, I've never experienced _this._ I've never thought I could just let myself love somebody and ease up on control because he loves me equally. I know it because I feel it."

Harry is examining me again, perhaps a bit puzzled.  
"_That's how I feel about Ginny," _he murmurs. "To a T…"

Shrugging, I exhale the tension I was holding inside.  
Figures that Draco is my Ginny.  
Figures that I would possibly find true love in the _worst _person I could've.

"What do you propose we do, then? Illegally Apparate to Malfoy Manor so I can serenade him with an apology and explanation under his windowsill?" he slinks down, finishing off the dredges of his Butterbeer.

Normally, I would laugh at this suggestion, but being as my brain is clogged for options, I'm getting so delusional I don't think it's half bad.  
"No. You should probably stay out of it. I need to write him soon though. He's probably restless, he sent me a letter yesterday and I haven't the bravery to open it."

"Hermione…let me send him an owl. Just let me tell him what was, well, I suppose _wasn't _, going on in my head. The last thing we both would _ever _want to do is reveal our feelings to each other, right?"

"No."

"Hermione, _come on. _I don't expect a reply. But I owe it to you. I owe it to _him," _he admits with seemingly enormous effort.

The fact he's willing to have a heart to heart with _Draco _at least lets me know he's serious about this. But I think it's going to take a miracle in order for this to end up right.

"I guess that wouldn't _hurt._ It's going to cut deep no matter what we do. _Sigh, _going to write it all tonight, then? Then maybe we can tackle Ginny. She's been bugging me about what's wrong the way you have. I've concealed everything successfully so far, but I'm going to crack soon because she's being so kind."

"_Fuck," _he moans, burying his face in his hands. 'Yeah, alright."

"_Ugh_. This sucks."

"Basically...Want another round before we go?"

* * *

_She'll write soon, she's probably busy._

_She's at school, she has class. You just have to lie here, you idiot. _

_Stop being so selfish and pathetic._

Paranoia is my new token emotion.  
Hermione wasn't written me in a over a week. The longest absence before this was 5 days, and even then, she informed me of her lapse beforehand because she was swamped with midterms and essays.

First, I thought maybe she just forgot. She actually has a life. Second, I thought maybe she was sick, and then I promptly sent her a letter asking her about it. Third, I was thinking maybe she might be pissed at me for some reason. But I have to rule that out because she wouldn't be so juvenile as to quit writing. And now? Now I think something's happened. And she doesn't want to tell me.  
Maybe something _good_ though, like restoring her friendship with the bloody Golden Trio. Maybe she has less time for me now in her already hectic schedule.

FUCK.  
I just want to know.

_Knock Knock  
_"Draco – your Healer is here."

Bollocks.  
"Alright mother, be right out."

I haven't even gotten dressed yet. I'm seriously the most horrific, sorry excuse of a human being. Obsessing over my girlfriend. Like I don't trust her. Like I have no confidence in myself, or her, or our relationship.  
_Ugh, _I'm acting like _Weasley_ would.

That notion pushes me out of bed, shuddering at the thought of myself with red hair and freckles, throwing on trousers and a robe haplessly. Elsanna doesn't give a damn what I look like anyways. I was a slobbering pitiful wreck the first few times.

Tottering on out to the hall, I hurry to the study at the end, where she's waiting for me.  
"And how are we today, Draco?" she smiles, the crinkles around her forehead and eyes making it all the more sincere.

Elsanna is in her mid-forties, with soft greying hair and a kind presence that I assume is what enables her to be so successful. Mrs. Malfoy spared no expense I gathered from asking about her credentials when she got here the initial session (like a bloody fool). Studied at the Ministry, studied at a Muggle university. Got a 'Masters' degree, whatever that is, in Psychology. I think I like talking to her mostly because she's a reflection of what I envision Hermione to be like when she's older. Nurturing, helpful, and successful. But slightly less high strung.

"Not very good," I reply honestly, plopping myself on the couch.

"Oh?"  
She's got her legs crossed, her signature concerned quizzical look plastered on her face. Her clipboard ever-present on her lap, quill tapping on the parchment for notes.  
She always does this; pauses so I begin our talk. So I get to say what I want, what's at the forefront of my thoughts.

"Hermione hasn't written me in over a week."

"_Ah._ You're not used to that. You were so pleased last week. It upsets you because you finally told her about the epiphany you had, and she hasn't offered her views?"

"_Well – _not really. I'm just wondering more the reasoning behind why she wouldn't. She's always punctual, she would've told me if she wasn't going to write. I just can't help but feel that something's happened."

"Like what?"  
Her gaze that is expectant always gets me; makes me feel like I'm being ridiculous. Because she isn't judging me. Instead, I end up judging myself as I don't need to be defensive.

I explain my earlier insecurities, about the assumptions she's been hanging out with the Potter crew 24/7.

I'm hoping for words of comfort, hoping I can ask about if she thinks sending her that book was wise.

A I speak, a realization reaches me that I actually _want _advice_, and _ I actually look forward to this interaction every week. A little glimmer of hope flows through me afterwards, that maybe I'm getting better.

{}

"I'll see you next week, Draco. Always nice to see you."

"Thank you. Good bye!"  
An hour has passed, like a breeze, and I'm feeling content.

My elation only elevates tenfold when I return to my room to a welcoming hoot. Aquila is there, settled on his perch pecking at his water. _Two _letters are on my desk, and I think for a moment, that perhaps because Aquila is only a guest at the Hogwarts Owlery, that one of them was.

Practically leaping to my chair, I stroke the soft fur of my pet, abruptly stopping once I notice that the handwriting on each envelope is different. One distinctly Hermione's….the other one I've never seen.

Unsure of which one to read first, I snatch them both and crash onto my mattress. Thumbing my name scrawled on both, I rip open Hermione's first. Longing with need to hear anything of her, my desperation has gotten the best of me.

_Draco,_

_I apologize that I haven't written you back recently.  
I don't want to sugar coat this or beat around the bush. But something horrible happened on the weekend, and I've been too much a coward to tell you about it. Until now._

Something sharp pierces my insides, but now curiosity is far greater than my apprehension.

_After reading Passe par des Changements – which was fantastic, by the way – I felt such intense loneliness due to your absence. My night right after I completed it, Sunday, was spent rereading your letters by the fire in the common room. Only, I ended up with company._

_It was Harry. He couldn't sleep because he had a dream about Ginny, and once he saw I was in the same spirits as he was (low ones) he joined me. As I told you, we've been slowly rebuilding our friendship._

_Well, everything was perfect, and comforting. Until we were talking about how miserable we felt and had the bright idea that alcohol would somehow remedy it. _

My grip is so tight on the parchment, I am sick to my stomach; I _do not _want to continue.  
And I regret it when I have the idiotic idea to do so anyways.

_We were fairly tipsy, not belligerent, but tipsy. I was hugging him goodnight, the first intimate interaction both Harry and I had in a while. And when I pulled away, he forgot himself. And….he kissed me._

_And...he kissed me._

The page is on the floor before I finish.  
I'm shaking with rage; the phrase repeating over and over like a drum beat.

And the tears are flowing down my cheeks before I can even process all this, just like how I'm ripping up the other letter because I now know who it must be from.  
I don't want an apology, I want to _murder _him.

I can't bring myself to pluck the rest of the letter off the floor to read about how she hasn't spoken to him since, about how she hexed him or slapped him because I know that wasn't her reaction. She probably spoke to him and is still trying to fix everything because that's what she does; she gets pissed and then she tried to make amends. A bandage can only stretch so far, and i'm afraid that i'll be the section left out when this all blows over.

_How dare he?_

_HOW DARE HE?_

I actually have to fling my wand across the room so it hits the wall, so I don't give in to the urge to go on a manhunt.  
_Fucking _Potter.

"FUCK."

* * *

"HE WHAT!?"

This is going a bit better than I expected.  
Ginny at least responded verbally, doesn't have tears in her eyes, and didn't run away off the grass to go kill him.

"It was a momentary lapse of judgement…."

"THAT ABSOLUTE PIECE OF DRAGON DUNG!"

"Ginny – he's in absolute bits about it," I try defending him, even though I'm actually happy she has reacted this way.

He bloody well deserves it.

"SO WHAT! IS _THAT_ WHY YOU WERE IGNORING ME?"

"Yes," I confess.

"AND WHAT ABOUT YOU AND DRACO, HUH? MERLIN, WHAT A _COMPLETE_ IDIOT!"  
Clutching clumps of dirt in her hands, she digs up the ground and throws it at the tree trunk we're settled under.

Even though we decided that Harry had to make up to Ginny himself, we also agreed it would be wiser if I explained first _my_ take. And the redder she turns, I'm thinking maybe that was the wrong play.

"We both owled Draco. I don't know how he's going to take it," I lie. He's going to be absolutely livid. "But having Harry write an apology and explain himself will help."

"I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE – wait, _what? _He actually _wrote_ an apology? Did you write it for him?" she questions me with narrowed eyes, with more clarity, her tirade slowly quelling.

"No….it was actually his idea."

"WHAT!? I – _but. GOD. _He despises the bloke. Why was he so reasonable?_"_

"Wants to actually try. Knows he hasn't for me. And I didn't want him to do it, but he insisted. We had a really long talk yesterday at Hogsmeade, Ginny. He misses me. And he misses _you_ a lot. I know you miss him too. He's really gone and messed it about, but I told him he had to go get you now. If you'll let him – oh, _please _let him," I beg, grabbing her hands in mine, shaking them up and down.

She recoils a bit, surprised at my pleading.  
'Why do you want me to get back with him so bad?"

"I just want some kind of normalcy," I whine, falling back onto the lawn. "I'm still mad at Harry, but it was a mistake. A costly one, a _big_ one, but I just want everyone to resolve their goddamn hang-ups. Draco is going to be at wits end thinking I'm no longer interested in him, that I can be content with you all again without him; that was his worst fear realized when he ran into the forest. If you were with Harry again, I could tell him that. If we were all friends again, maybe we could work on integrating Draco again. I suppose I'm just being selfish," I sigh, rolling onto my stomach and staring up at Ginny.

"_God, _no. You're right. I do miss him. I don't know what's happened to him lately, he's gone _crazy."  
_Slouching as if she's surrendered, she joins me in laying down.  
"I'm not mad at you, so you know. I know you would _never _let that sadness get the best of you. I think Harry was expecting this year to go off without a hitch, and then you fell in love with the 'enemy'. And in his mind, that ruined everything. I'm happy you started making amends, I know he missed you, regardless of what he did. He wouldn't shut up about you. And Ron was just confused because he was still under the impression you'd give him one more chance. And then you didn't," she titters, rolling her eyes.

"This is such a mess. I'm so sorry, Ginny."

"No. It's not your fault. Yeah, maybe you shouldn't have drank, but Harry shouldn't have kissed you. And you've been so worried about Malfoy, it's understandable why you were so sad. I'm just SO PISSED OFF," she cries, a large tick of annoyance resonating from the recesses of her vocal chords.

"Was this _fucking_ close to talking to him. And now I don't wanna see his dumb face for a long while again. _Ugh. _He's really going to have to step it up."

"You can say that again. At least he's _trying. _Ron hasn't done a thing."

"Yeah, well. Ron's a cock."

For some reason, this spurs me on into a fit of giggles I can't control. Ginny, at my burst of laughter, then reluctantly breaks into a grin and joins me.  
Thank God she's not a sprawling heap. She's going to be fine.

"Christ, this is dumb. Well I sincerely hope Draco doesn't pull a Harry and overreact. He should know how much you care."

"Neither do I, I hope he does." I reply, looking up at the setting sky, praying that she's right.

{}

I didn't truly expect a reply from Draco this soon.

I'm torn between relief that he responded and worry that this might be a bad thing.

Luckily, everyone had the sense not to bother me as I dashed away from the Great Hall to go read this alone. I'm sitting on the steps just outside, where the points hourglasses are. My name is written more sloppily than normal, I notice. And I'm wondering if he replied to me straight after reading with shaking anger, and only had the nerve to deliver it today. It's been three days and two nights since I sent him my letter.

"Here goes nothing." I mutter, sliding the parchment from its casing.  
I take a giant breath before diving in, scared of what lay ahead.

_I didn't finish your letter.  
I didn't want the details._

_I wish you'd never told me.  
Because as it stands I WISH POTTER WAS DEAD.  
He made you cheat, he took you away from me and there's nothing I can do. _

_I ripped up his letter, I'm guessing it was from him. I could be wrong, but I frankly don't care. Don't worry, I've lessened my anger enough to placate my murderous thoughts. Slightly._

_I've now been trying to convince myself that you would never hurt me purposely, and I know you love me. But then, why do I still hurt? This is what happens when I'm away. You seek comfort, and get it from Potter. Someone who isn't me. And then he wants you._

_Of course he would, why wouldn't he?_

_And I'm in exile here at home because I can't control myself properly.  
And I don't want to be wary of the fact you're regaining friendships important to you, but I am if this is the result. _

_I'm just in bits, Hermione. Every passing second, I think that maybe somebody is stealing you away from me again. I miss you so much, but I'm so angry. Not at you, alright. I love you.  
_

_But it's going to take me a while to get over this, so please let me talk to my healer first. Please understand, I want you to be happy. I just feel like it's been at my expense, and I know it's not your intent. And I know i'm being selfish._

_Please don't reply to me until I sort this out._

_Draco_

The maturity in which he's written me has rocked me, truly and deeply.  
Now the only thing I want to do is hold him, tell him I'm sorry again and again. I love him so much, I can't bear this.

My desire to touch him, and kiss him, is stronger than it's ever been. And now I am powerless, now I'm the one how has to wait.

And it's going to be unbearable.


End file.
